


take me to church

by captainenvy



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, F/M, Fake Marriage, Sorry Not Sorry, can't stop/won't stop writing about sansa, modern version
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-19
Updated: 2018-08-15
Packaged: 2018-08-23 10:28:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 93,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8324335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainenvy/pseuds/captainenvy
Summary: Sansa's tuition for university cost her a leg and an arm, but the problem is she can't seem to be able to pay it back. After all the awful rumours about her family, just the mention of her name is enough to turn down potential employers, that is, until she meets the insanely wealthy CEO of Martell Enterprises, Oberyn Martell. But, instead of offering her the job she so desperately wants, he interviews her for a very different position …If you enjoy this story, please consider donating here (https://ko-fi.com/N4N25J6J) so that I can continue doing this ! Thanks !





	1. Chapter 1

Up until that point, Sansa had succeeded in fooling herself.

Things could be worse.

“We've already given the position to somebody else.”

“But – I have the qualifications, I have the drive, if you could just -”

“I'm sorry. We just can't hire you.”

Today, though, Sansa couldn't lie to herself anymore : she was royally screwed. The woman on the other end of the line hung up, not even saying goodbye, not even waiting for a response; and Sansa was left to fight her tears. She took deep breaths, tried to ignore the now familiar panic attack rising from her belly, held herself to stop from shaking, and gave herself exactly three seconds to contain her anxiety. After that, she had to walk out the door and start her shift.

She'd gotten her business degree with honours, graduating top of her class after four years of working like a madwoman, and thought – foolishly, as it turned out – that this would be enough to prove that her last name didn't define her. That she was _good_. That she was _competent_. Now she had a massive amount of debt, and nothing to show for it. Of course, during classes, she'd worked as a hostess, banking on her good looks and easy smile for tips, and had made the jump to bartending a couple of years later. Fast forward two years, and she now worked full time, sometimes fifty hours weeks, went on interviews every week, sent resumes and Cvs by the dozen – but still nothing. Ever since her family died and all her inheritance went with them or with the Lannisters, she had had to learn to be frugal, to be careful; and she really thought she had : she lived off restaurant leftovers and about-to-expire food, she wore the same clothes until they ripped apart from too much use.

She thought she was doing everything _right_.

But every job she applied for took one look at her name and chucked her application in the bin, every agency she signed in at eventually asked her to leave, every employer had a different excuse, but the result was the same : she simply was not wanted. She'd thought, of course, about leaving King's Landing, but how ? She had no money in her pocket, and if she left her job, how could she be sure she'd find another where she'd end up ? Would she find somewhere to live ? Even though it really wasn't ideal, she had a job, she had somewhere to sleep. It should be enough, right ? But it wasn't. It really wasn't. Sansa felt at the end of her rope, she simply did not know what to do. She worked every afternoon, every night, she worked from the bar's opening till the closing, she did her job, she did more than her job, she almost managed the place for crying out loud. And yet, it wasn't enough to make end's meet, not with her loan. She took a deep breath. _One_. Her rent was due tomorrow. She exhaled slowly. So were her loan payments. She took another deep breath. _Two_. She could pay for both – for once – but it would mean she'd have to cut back on food. Again. She exhaled. _Three_. For the next twelve hours, she'd have to forget about it, do her job, and pray she'd be too exhausted to be kept up for the rest of the night.

She came home at about four am, like she did every day, and fell into her bed, too tired to do anything else. She lived in a shoebox with two other girls, Mya & Myranda, in the middle of a not so friendly neighbourhood, and even _that_ she could barely afford. Sansa liked her roommates, what she'd seen of them at least; Myranda had a decent job, but, like her, she was crushed with student loans; and Mya hadn't gone to college, but she was stuck in a waitressing job in a crappy diner, with little to no career prospects.

 

* * *

 

 

Sansa's alarm went up at 9am, and her day started in the same way that it had ended : she was exhausted, grumpy, and her feet hurt like hell. But today was going to be a good day : she had an interview. An honest to the Gods interview with an honest to the Gods CEO of an honest to the Gods company that they could not back out of. It was a chance, and she was going to take it, no matter if she was tired or sick or if every joint in her body was aching; she was going to go for it. She'd persuade that CEO to hire her, she had to.

She had 'won' the interview her last year of University, when Martell's Enterprises' Oberyn Martell had come to her Business School with a contest : whoever had the best, most innovative pitch out of all students would get a cash reward -she had spent it on repaying part of her loan - and an interview with him for a spot on his executive team. Sansa had fought tooth and nail for the two weeks that the contest lasted, and she'd won. She had won because she was good, because she was dedicated, because she knew what she was talking about. She had won because, in a surge of 'fuck-it', she'd gone in with attitude, with fire in her belly, she'd gone in with everything that she had. And today, she was going to reap what she had sewn that day. She filled her belly with coffee, smiled at Mya who was half-sleeping in the kitchen, took her shower and laid out her best outfit, and left the flat energized and ready.

She was wearing her favourite dress, a relic from her teen years that was now a little less black and a little too small – her boobs were basically begging to come out – and Sansa thanked the Gods over and over that there was no showed cleavage. But even with the – now faded – couture label, she still felt uncomfortable in the middle of Martell Tower. Everyone was bustling about, walking with purpose and energy, everyone looked like they belonged, all in designer suits and skirts and shoes, but it didn't help that Sansa could tell which designer made what; she was the girl that stuck out with her fiery hair and her outdated dress. At reception, when they asked her name, she had hesitated, wondered if she shouldn't go back, if they were going to take her seriously – but she _had_ to go. She _had_ to have this interview and nail it.

“Sansa Stark.” she announced, with a hint of pride. After all, her parents had done nothing wrong, no matter what she'd been told after they passed; they were good people, they were kind, and honest, and generous. She _should_ be proud to be their daughter. “I'm here for an interview.”

“All right miss Stark, Mr Martell will be with you in a moment. Please sit in the waiting room, I will call you once he is ready.”

“Thank you.”

For a while, driven by desperation, Sansa had tried to go by a different name. But they eventually found her out, they always did, and she'd been left outside to wonder exactly what she could do to prove to them that she was worth the hassle. She wanted to be accepted by her peers the way they had accepted her classmates after graduation, no matter how much it cost.

Sansa sat in sullen silence, her face a neutral mark, her brain scanning every memory she had of her class, what she'd learnt, until she heard a door forcefully close. She looked up to find two men in black suits glaring in her direction – her blood went cold for a second – then leave, chatting between themselves with obvious anger.

“Miss Stark ?” the man asked from his desk. “Mr. Martell is ready for you.”

Sansa stood up, took a deep breath, thanked the woman, then got in the office with her chin held up high. If they were about to throw her out, at least she'd keep her dignity.

“Would you mind closing the door on your way in, please ?”

Oberyn Martell's voice was as suave and husky as she remembered it, but he looked graver, older. She did as she was asked, then took a few steps forward to plant herself in the middle of the room, right in front of him.

“Trouble with board members ?” she inquired.

A slow smirk appeared on Martell, and leaned back into his chair. “Yes, actually.”

“Let me guess : they're not thrilled with the idea of a Stark in their midst.”

She saw him cock his head sideways. “Speaking from experience, I presume.”

Sansa shrugged non-commitally. “And I presume your job opening just closed.”

“Miss Stark, if tomorrow I come to work and realize that I've just been fired – I'd be all right with it. My position is just that. A position. With my credentials, it would be easy to find something else. But if I come to work tomorrow and see that this company is being dismantled and abandonned, I would not be all right with it. This is my father's company. My brother works for it, and so do his children. I'm sorry, but I do not know that you are worth jeopardizing all of this.”

Sansa felt a familiar pang in her stomach, and forced herself to keep breathing steadily; she would not fall apart in front of this man. “I appreaciate that, Mr. Martell. Thank you for your time.” She bobbed her head in his direction and turned on her heels.

“I do have something for you, though. A position, of sorts.”

She turned back round, frowning. “I'm sorry ?”

“Please, sit.”

Intrigued, she did as she was told as Oberyn Martell leaned forward towards her, his forearms on his desk. He was silent for a long time, studying her, and it was all that Sansa could do not to squirm under his stare.

“Please know that this isn't a random idea,” he suddenly started, “and that I have given it a lot of thought over the past few years. I'm sure that for a young, idealistic woman such as yourself, this won't be easy to hear, and that your first instinct will be indignation -”

“Mr. Martell,” Sansa dared interrupt, impatient as she was to hear his point, “I have graduated suma cum laude at the most prestigious business university in the country after having spent years dodging their excuses to drop me as a student. Many of my former classmates now work at major companies, some have even funded their own. Meanwhile, I work 70 hour weeks in a sleazy pub in Flea Bottom, hoping to get enough money to pay back my loans and the decrepit box I live in. I can't afford indignation.” She held herself staright, her chin up, doing her best to stay calm; but he was making it very difficult by walking on eggshells around her. “What's your proposition of sorts ?”

Looking straight into her eyes with only the shadow of a smirk on his lips and a strange light behind his look, he stated that he needed a wife.

“A wife ?”, she repeated, flabbergasted. Never in a milion years would she have guessed this was Oberyn Martell's proposition to her. “Do you want to hire me as a matchmaker ? Is that it ?”

“No, Miss Stark.” The man behind the desk as clearly amused at her, as shown by his wide, goofy smile. “No, I don't – I want to hire you to be my wife.”

Sansa blinked a few times. “I'm not sure I'm following.”

“You need a job. I'm offering you one.”

“As your wife ?” _Was this a joke ?_ She almost laughed at the ridicule of the idea. “Why on earth would you marry _me_ ?”

“Dishonored or not, you are a Stark. You are brave, and strong, and incredibly hard-working, or at least that's the impression that you've given me last year.” He chuckled. “I have a very – intense character, and I need somebody who will not only support me, but will be able to hold her own, stand up to me from time to time. I have no time for stand ins and trophies.”

“You've thought about it a lot over the past few years.” she repeated, now finding it funny.

“Here's what I offer, Miss Stark : no more student loans. No more 70 hour weeks. No more decrepit boxes. But the life you were supposed to live all along.” He laughed. “Well, except that you won't be marrying our benevolent King, but rather a man who will not only be honest to you, but a man who will treat you as his equal.”

“Are you trying to sweet-talk me, Mr. Martell ?” she inquired, lifting an eyebrow.

Oberyn Martell laughed good-heartedly for a while, and his good humour was so infectious that even she found herself smiling.

“Don't worry; I promise I'll behave until we are married.” He got up, mirrored by Sansa, who shook his extended hand. “You'll think about it, yes ?”

“I'm not sure how I'll stop.” she joked, half smiling.

 

* * *

 

 

Because of an incident in the subway, Sansa barely had had the time to go home, change, and leave for work to get there on time. She hadn't eaten since lunch yesterday, and her stomach was screaming, but she had much bigger problems : her manager, Ros – who preferred to leave Sansa in charge while she drank with friends or went out, and who was almost never in the bar for its opening – had opened the doors and was waiting for her, texting on the counter.

“Am I late ?” Sansa asked, panicked.

“No, no.” the older woman answered, not even looking up.

“Oh. Good.”

Sansa took off her coat – emaciated, like everything else she owned – and started to get everything ready for the bartenders' shifts, too afraid to ask why Ros was there.

“Look, we gotta talk.”

Sansa froze. _Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck._

“We got a call from the owners yesterday,” Ros continued, having finally looked up. “They're pressuring us to, um-”

“Fire me.” Sansa finished in her stead, arms crossed.

“Yeah.”

“So, am I ?”

“Yeah.” Ros repeated.

“Wow. Who's gonna do your job, then ?”

She was tired, and bitter, and _fuck_. She'd worked harder than any other employee, and this was how they said thank you ? _Well fuck them_ , she thought. _Fuck this._ She let go of the towel she'd been holding and extended her hand.

“I'll have my paycheck, please.”

“Sansa -” Ros rolled her eyes. “Don't be so fucking dramatic.”

“Fine. I'll do it myself.”, she fumed before adding under her breath, “It's not like it would be the first time.”

She walked into Ros's office and set about paying herself. In a fit of rage, she paid herself for her actual hours instead of what they all pretended she worked, and found herself richer than she had been in a long time. She'd have to cash it in today, though, so that no one could say anything to her. She signed it in Ros's handwriting – not her first time doing that either – stamped the bar's official logo on the check, and left without saying another word. The other bartender who was supposed to open with her watched her leave and protested, but she had been fired : none of this mattered anymore. She didn't care. She walked straight to the bank, holding herself against the mild wind coming in from the sea, and, on her way back, stopped to get some food.

She told herself she had tonight to be crazy and young, which in her case meant home, food, shower, bed, and tomorrow, she'd set upon finding a new job. And, if she wasn't hired before next Monday, then – and she couldn't believe she was giving up so quickly – she'd call Oberyn martell and accept his proposal. Literally.

 

* * *

 

 

“I can't believe I'm actually thinking of going through with a fake marriage.” Sansa thought while in the shower, Sunday night.

She'd spent the last few days since she'd been fired walking into bars and pubs, handing out CV's quicker than they could say no, smiling widly despite the gravity of her situation, and she had struggled with keeping her head up throughout all of it. But she was no closer to a job, no one was hiring, and she couldn't literally afford to say no to Oberyn Martell any longer. And, even if at first she had been reluctant to say it, the job he was offering was right up her alley; after all, was marriage to a wealthy, powerful man not the exact thing that she had been born and bred to do ?

There would simply have to be conditions, a contract to protect her and ensure that she could get out at any moment – there was absolutely no way that she would do this without safety nets, screwed or not screwed. One abusive relationship had been enough, a lifetime's worth; no one would catch her doing it that again, even if it meant going poorer than she'd ever been.

She spent her night tossing and turning, coming up with terms and conditions while her anxiety constantly came up with reasons not to, one question on her mind at all times : did she really have a choice ? Sure, she could try her luck again with pubs all over the city, but doing so would mean watching her bank account slowly emptying itself, and she didn't if she had the strength for that anymore. Oberyn Martell was offering stability, security, he was offering never again going to bed hungry. In the end, those were the things she wanted for herself. The rest could be tossed aside until she had a fighting chance at making it in the world on her own. How could she say no ?

She got up that morning feeling slightly queasy, conscious that she had taken a decision that was going to change the course of her life, and yet unwilling to look back. She had to act before she changed her mind out of fear, she knew, and she was in the Martell Enterprises building before she could realize what she was doing.

The guy behind the desk was the same as a few days ago, and he smiled at Sansa as she came closer.

“Miss Stark.” he greeted warmly, something that surprised Sansa : no one said her name with a real, genuine smile any more.

“Hi.” she responded with an equally bright smile. “I was wondering if I could see Oberyn Martell.”

“Of course, he said to be expecting you. I'll just ring him up.”

Frowning, Sansa inquired :

“He said he was expecting me ?”

The man nodded, speaking on the phone, then immediately showed her the way. “He says to come in without knocking.” he added.

Oberyn was frowning over papers in his hands when she passed her head into his office, wondering if it was really okay to just barge in without knocking.

“Good morning.”

Her words almost sounded like a question, but he looked up sharply, and his entire demeanor changed. He gestured for her to come in, putting down whatever was in his hands.

“Good morning, miss Stark. How very nice to see you again.”

She closed the door behind her, took a few steps forward as Oberyn was smiling.

“I have a few conditions.” she stated before saying anything else, quickly, before she could lose her nerve. “One, I can get out whenever I want. Two, I get to do what I want when I'm alone. Three, you can't tell me who I can or cannot see, or what I can or cannot do. Four, you cannot make me do what I don't want to do. Five, I am your equal in all things. You don't own me, let's make that very clear.”

Amused, Oberyn nodded slowly; but Sansa wasn't done.

“I will be your dutiful wife, and I will earn my pay however you see fit; that is, unless it crosses the line.”

“I agree.”

Sansa took another deep breath. “Then, yes, I will marry you.”

“Splendid.” He got up. “Let me call my lawyer – for now, let's just do dinner. Tonight.”

 

* * *

 

 

Dinner, as it turned out, was a luxurious meal in an upscale restaurant that she remembered as a very romantic spot in the city, at least for rich people. Sansa hadn't experienced any of that in years, and she couldn't for the life of her remember what it was like to not care how much was actually in her bank account as she did the last time she had went there. She felt actually more nervous than she had felt going into that interview a few days ago, and it didn't help that, once again, she had nothing to wear.

She'd washed her couture dress – the same she wore for the interview – with black dye, hoping to freshen up the colour, and had spent at least ten minutes after that cleaning her fingertips, pesting against cheap rubber gloves. She hoped Oberyn wouldn't notice that she was dressed the same as she was when he met her a few days ago, and she hoped she wouldn't stand out too much.

She had hoped to borrow Myranda's laptop to follow video tutorials for her make-up and hair – she had hoped she could borrow Myranda's products, too; her own were just too shabby for a date, even a buisness one – but Myranda had gasped and shrieked until Sansa agreed to let her do the work. Myranda was very chatty, but not bad company, and Sansa could ask her anything without fear of judgment; everything flew in Myranda's book. They talked dating etiquette, Martell gossip, and she gave Sansa a really great pep talk when it came time to walk out the door.

Oberyn was there at exactly the time he said he would, and Sansa almost raced down in her pumps – old relics from her hay days, too – just to make sure Oberyn wouldn't have the time to observe the house closely enough. He greeted her as soon as she appeared before him with a small smile that grew as he looked her over appreciatively.

“Mr. Martell.”

She fought the urge to curtsey, for whatever reason. _Damn_ , was she nervous.

“Please, call me Oberyn.” he opened the car door for her. “We are to share each other's lives, after all.”

From the outside and when they pulled over in front of it, the restaurant looked closed; even though the lights were on, nobody was inside but the staff. This didn't seem to faze Oberyn at all as he put his hand on her back gently, which made Sansa realize that the restaurant was meant to be empty : he had privatized it for the evening.

“It's just going to be us tonight.” he whispered in her ear, corroborating what she had thought. “I hope it's not a problem.”

She shivered. “No, not at all.”

Sansa hoped than she looked more confident than she felt coming into the restaurant, instantly greeted by the maitre d'hotel, and taken to a center table.

“Have you ever been here before ?” Oberyn inquired as he pushed her chair.

“I have, once. With her Majesty the Queen.”

He chuckled. “A night I'm sure you cherish to this day.”

It was common knowledge that the Martells distrusted the royal family, and the Lannisters even more, but the sarcasm dripping from Oberyn's voice clearly indicated that his feelings were stronger than just distrust.

“A magical night.” she added on in the same tone.

“Did you at least get to enjoy the food ?” he pushed on as the waitress brought them menus.

“Actually, she looked at me very disapprovingly when I started eating. I remember going to bed hungry for the first time that night.”

“A magical night.” he repeated, quietly.

Sansa smiled at him, hoping to change the subject. “What about you, have you ever come here before ?”

“I have. Only ever for business, though.”

“A tradition that proudly continues, then.” she teased, and was rewarded by a quick laugh.

It was very impressive to see how at ease he made her feel, despite them not knowing each other at all; this was a man she could have seen herself dating, really dating, had she had had the chance or the time. He was warm, and he was communicating that warmth with her; her smiles were easy, the words came naturally. Spending part of her life with him might not be that bad of an idea, after all.

It helped, too, of course, that Oberyn was extremely good-looking. Broad-shouldered, with enticing deep black eyes, olive skin and lustrous thick hair – the complete opposite of all the boys that she used to dream about, who only ever adorned the blonde hair of Prince Joffrey, and his slender figure.

His warmth enticed her, surrounded her, and she was mellowed by it – an advantage she was sure he used abundantly in all his business – and pleasure -. She didn't even want to fight it, she simply wanted to approach her fingers and toes, and let the heat take her wherever it may go.

But she was staring, and he had noticed, smirking at her as did.

“You must be a really hard person to say no to.” she stated, the thought bumping into her head.

“Ha !” he chuckled, “I certainly endeavour to.”

She smiled crookedly before reporting her attention on the menus.

Everything sounded delicious, and Sansa's mouth was almost watering at the mere thought of eating : she hadn't had much of a lunch because she had been so nervous, and she was ravenous.

“So why are _you_ CEO of the company, and not your older brother ?” she wondered aloud, earning a flash of surprise from Oberyn, quickly hidden under pride and amusement.

“Have you been reading up on me, Sansa ?”

Before he ever said her name, Sansa had never realized how hot the sound 's' might sound in a person's mouth; she fought to keep her breathing steady and her eyes leveled on the paper before her.

“Not really,” she grinned, “I just have a roommate that happens to know everything about everyone. Besides, I find it helps to be prepared.”

She heard the sound of his own menu being set on the table, and looked up to find that he had leaned forward on the table, his head cocked a little to the side.

“So what might have you learned about me ?”

“Nothing too scandalous, to my great regret.” she japed. “Nothing more than gossip.”

“Good gossip, I hope.”

“Depends on what you constitute as good.”

He smirked. “Did _you_ find it good ?”

Sansa almost had to refrain herself from squirming : Oberyn might feel good, but this was getting a little too charged for her liking.

“I've stopped caring about gossip a long time ago, Mr. Martell.”

“Oberyn.”

He made it sound like an order. _Oh, but what a sweet order_.

“Oberyn.” she repeated.

Was it her, or was he suddenly too close ? It didn't feel like any of them had moved, though. But the way he was looking at her – like there was nothing else he'd rather be doing right now than talking with her – she wondered if she was not going to start melting.

“I did learn something, though.” she said, trying to break off whatever was happening between them.

“What would that be ?”

“Everywhere you go, cameras follow.”

And, as though on cue, Sansa felt flashes of light reaching her, a sea of loud noises shouting Oberyn's name following.

“No wonder you chose a restaurant with bay windows.” she smirked.

Oberyn almost roared with laughter, sending butterflies fluttering in her stomach. The maitre d'hotel almost leaped across the room to close the blinds, but everyone knew that it didn't mean that the paparazzi couldn't see them any more.

“You _are_ clever.” Oberyn beamed.

Sansa chuckled, looking from him to her menu, determined not to look up again until she had decided on what to eat.

 

* * *

 

 

“So what now ?”

Her desert – crême brulée – had come and gone, the meal consumated with wine and interesting conversation. They had approached the subject of the wedding – Oberyn wanted it as early as it could, Sansa wanted it to be as private as it could – and decided that Oberyn – well, _he_ had decided, Sansa had merely accepted with relief – would take a few weeks off for them to get to know each other after the wedding.

“Now I take you home. With me.”

Despite herself, Sansa blushed. Hard.

“Don't worry, though. I have no intent of taking advantage of you.” he gently mocked her.

“Well, after a lovely date like tonight, one might argue you might feel entitled to it.”

“Entitled to what ?” A dark light flashed through his eyes, and he frowned.

“Taking advantage of the girl who isn't paying for her meal.”

Sansa saw no malice in her words; she had been taught – by the queen, no less – that men may thought they owned a girl as soon as they started to pay for her, and, in the case of his son, that he did own her. She'd only thought Oberyn might agree.

She was no fool, besides. She knew that Oberyn would not be celibate for long after their marriage, if he indeed waited for that long, and that he may claim her nights as soon as he wanted. They _were_ going to be married, after all. Catelyn, Sansa's mother, had not wanted to marry Sansa's father for love, but rather out of obligation, and she had had children nonetheless. She simply hoped Oberyn would not turn away once he knew that, despite her not being a virgin, she simply did not know anything about sex other than the biological side of it, and who put what where.

But Oberyn did not like her words, and there was anger in his tone. “Is that who you think I am ?”

“I didn't mean to offend you.” she quickly tried to defuse the situation. “I'm just saying what I know.”

“Well, it does not work like that for me. Neither will it work for us as a couple, Sansa. I will _never_ feel entitled to anything that you are not ready to give.”

“Then why would you take me back to your place ?” Sansa wondered, quizzically.

He responded more calmly. “I have had my lawyer come up with a marriage contract. I want you to read it. Sign it, if you agree to the terms.”

“Tonight ?”

“I am a man with very little spare time, Sansa. Especially if we are to go on honeymoon for a few weeks and if I want to give you my full attention. Which I do.”

“Why are you talking to me like I upset you ?” Sansa lifted an eyebrow, having realized that all good humour had disappeared between them.

“I am not.” he protested.

“Yes, actually, you are, Oberyn.” Sansa leaned forward. “If you do want a marriage with a partner who does not say amen at everything you say, like you have told me you wanted, you will have to be honest with me. At all times.”

He stared at her for a long time before he reached out and took her hand, very softly, more softly than she ever could have though he was capable of.

“I keep forgetting that you are only a child in many aspects.”

“Are you trying to vex me ?” she scoffed, smiling.

“Now where would be the fun in that ?” He lifted an eyebrow, and suddenly the relaxed atmosphere was back.

Sansa squinted. “You're lucky my wine glass is empty.”

Oberyn laughed heartily.

“But I do mean what I said, at least romantically.” he continued, his thumb stroking her hand, jolts of electricity coursing her veins with every one of them. “You have only ever known Joffrey, and that can barely be called a relationship.”

“I can't disagree with that.” she sighed. “However, and for the record, it _is_ vexing to be called a child when one is twenty two years old.”

“My Gods.” he pretended to be shocked. “You _are_ a child.”

“Oh, hush. This child is about to become your wife.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

“I have a question.” Sansa mused.

“Hm ?”

It had been a few days now that Oberyn and Sansa had gone out to dinner and Sansa had been presented with their marriage contract, and they had been inseparable, at least in the evenings. Oberyn worked like a madman, just as she used to, and he had tasked her with finding them a place to live, a place that was _theirs_. She had no budget, no imperative, just a simple wish from her future husband : pick some place where she'll be happy.

The contract was pretty standard, she recognized it so from the forms that had been presented to her a long time ago, when the goal was her becoming queen; and the clauses fairly straightforward : they promised each other honesty in all things, even when it may hurt, they promised each other trust and friendship, they promised to keep each other's secrets, they promised each other fidelity and loyalty. They would appear to the outside world as a unit, happy and bonded to one another, and they would keep the pretense of love at all times, at least when observed.

Oberyn's only demand that frightened her had been one of the bigger ones, and it had come hand in hand with his task for her – he and Sansa would, after they are wed, share the same bed every night. Oberyn did not trust his house staff as he trusted his lawyer or his family, and he refused to let them see that he and his wife would not be physical – even if they slept on separate ends of the bed, they would still sleep in the same room.

“I will not touch you unless you want me to, that goes without saying.” he had added to reassure her. “Only in public will I act as though we are besotted with each other.”

“It's not the physical act that frightens me-” Sansa had started, interrupted by Oberyn lifting an eyebrow, clearing doubting her words. “All right, fine : it frightens me. It would scare you, too, were you in my shoes. But that's not the point, the point is I've never had that much intimacy with anyone. _That_ frightens me.”

“Not even with your brothers, your friends ?”

“Nobody has ever slept in my bed.”

“Will you accept your husband as your first, then ? You may push me out if I snore too loud.”

Sansa had giggled, prompting the smile on Oberyn's lips to grow. After that, she'd thought ' _fuck it_ ' once again, and signed the papers.

In the few days that had followed and brought Sansa back to her question, they had fallen into the beginnings of a routine : Sansa oversaw the packing of Oberyn's loft, she packed her own things from her own room, and went, with Oberyn's lawyer, on a house hunt.

Mya and Myranda had been gutted to lose her as a roommate, worried that they would not be able to pay the rent on their own; but Sansa reassured them : the crappy shoe box's rent was covered in her salary for marrying Oberyn, just as was the repayment of her student loans. She told the two women that shared her life until not so long ago that she'd paid the rent for a few months in advance, and that they could take their time in finding a suitable replacement.

By the time Sansa and Jynessa Blackmont, Oberyn's lawyer, would come back in the late afternoon to Oberyn's loft, he was there or soon to be, they would exchange a smile and Oberyn would kiss her head, and they would fall into talking well into the night, before he'd take back to Flea Bottom.

That particular evening, they were sitting on his couch, Sansa's legs on his own – his doing, Sansa would have never dared –, her drinking Dornish wine - “You might as well get used to it, my dear, this is the only wine you'll ever drink again.” Oberyn had teased – and him drinking whiskey. He'd put his glass down, though, and was now engrossed in tracing circles on her knee. His touch had felt funny at first, sending jolts up her spine, but she was quickly getting used to how it felt on her skin. She had never been touched like that before; Oberyn was expecting nothing of her in return, nor was he expecting that she touch him back – he was simply creating intimacy between them, helped greatly by the fact that they told each other everything. It turned that Sansa had been right, that first night – people never seemed to be able to tell Oberyn no.

“There must be dozens of women out there, ready to become your wife at a moment's notice; eligible women, too. Why did you ask me ?”

“Are you suggesting I let you go and find one of those women ?” he teased her, a grin spreading on his lips.

“Answer the question, Oberyn.”

“What a bossy lady. Maybe I _should_ find another woman.” he whispered, as though speaking to himself, still making fun of her.

Sansa rolled her eyes and pushed his hand away. “I'm not bossy. I am determined.” she calmly stated.

“So you are.”

There was a glimmer of amusement in Oberyn's eyes, and a glimmer of something else, too. Pride, perhaps.

“And maybe that is why I chose you.”

Grabbing her by the knees, he gently pulled her to him until she was against his side, his palm finding the way back to her thigh and their faces inches away. Sansa shuddered, realizing that this touch was different, charged, heavy; something tugged at her lower belly as she was too mesmerized to look away.

“You fought for that interview tooth and nail, convinced that no one deserved it more than you – and you were right. Nobody fought as hard as you did. I wanted that fire in my life to match my own. I wanted that passion.”

“Then why have me come interview for a job you knew you wouldn't give me ?” Sansa frowned.

“I was fully prepared to give it to you, actually.” Oberyn's smile faded. “But you accepted that I would not do so. You accepted your fate. You let them beat you.”

Sansa looked down, ashamed. _But what else could she have done ?_ She'd had so many doors close in her face, this particular one had been no different.

“Had I let you go, that fight, that fire would have been snuffed out of you. I couldn't let that happen.” Oberyn continued, softer, forcing her to look back at him. “I am going to do what it takes, but we are going to get it back to you. However we can.”

Sansa frowned. “What are you proposing ?”

Oberyn looked at her for a long time before he spoke.

“There is no love lost between the Lannisters and the Martells.”

“So I have heard.” Sansa nodded, unsure of where he was leading her.

“We kept our distance from each other for a long time, happily doing business on either side of town, keeping our distrust alive in social situations only.” he sighed. “I have long suspected that they were up to something, and it turns out that I was right – they have started to pull the rug from under our company, one nook at a time so as not to wake us.”

“It will only get worse when you publicly announce your wedding to a Stark.” Sansa stated, not understanding how she had been his choice.

“Yes, it will.”

There was something in the way he was looking at her, as though she was missing something, and then it hit her.

“ _That_ 's why you chose me.”

“Part of the reason why, yes.” His grip on her thigh tightened, his fingers digging into her skin, but she was too distracted by the look in his eyes to feel any pain. “You, too, have no love for them. You, too, would like to see them fall. Yes ?”

There was hunger behind his words, and anger in his black eyes, but somehow this did not frighten her – she recognized herself in it. She used to be that person, furious at the world for its unfairness, wanting to take back her place in it, her rightful place; and she realized how right Oberyn was when he said that that fire had been snuffed out of her. He seemed to think, however, that there was hope for her yet, that she could find it back.

“Yes.” she answered before she could fully form the thought, and watched as a grin formed on his lips, flames dancing in his eyes. “Yes.” she repeated, a little louder, finding no fear in herself. _Yes_ , she thought, _maybe this is exactly what I need to get my fight back_.

 

* * *

 

On Friday, Jynessa and Sansa had visited a very large penthouse with a view like she had never seen before. There were windows everywhere, flooding the rooms with light, revealing the skyline of the city around them – and Sansa was floored. She couldn't stop staring, and the realtor had had to repeat some of the features twice as she had trouble listening, sucked in by the view as she were. The house was huge, containing stairs to the lower floor, where the current owners housed their staff, and grand marble stairs to the upper floor, where she found four bedrooms, including the master bedroom – that was just as big as her entire appartement in flea bottom, if you counted its two walk-in closets – and four bathrooms. The master bathroom had a imperial bathtub in its center, and a window so big that it took up an entire wall, its view on the ocean; and it was then and there that Sansa knew that they had found the house Oberyn was looking for.

Oberyn, it turned out, was equally pleased with it as she was, his favourite features being the office and the library; although he did make Sansa blush like a schoolgirl when he whispered in her ear as they were on their tour of the upstairs that the bathtub looked big enough for two. Grinning at her reaction, he turned around and he told the realtor that they were prepared to pay full price for the place if they could move in by Monday. The woman reddened slightly and excused herself to make some call, and see if it was possible.

Oberyn turned back to Sansa.

“Are you all right ? You seem _flushed_.” he teased.

“The realtor is going to tell her agency you're a fool in love, paying full price.” Sansa lifted both eyebrows, as if to say _are you sure you know what you are doing ?_

“Yes, she is.”

Oberyn moved towards her like a cat, silent and focused; soon, his hands were on her waist, and he spun her around, holding her tight between his arms. If she could concentrate on anything else but him – was she tense ? She felt tense – Sansa could have watched the ocean waves crashing against the rocks on the horizon, and she could have watched the birds flying in formation; but all she could do was focus on how fast her heart was beating.

“Close your eyes.” Oberyn urged her softly, his lips on her head. “Take a deep breath.”

Sansa obeyed, trying to defuse her sudden anxiety. She had spent the last few days with Oberyn touching her like this, sometimes more intensely, and she'd had no problems with it – she even missed it when he wasn't around – but here, in the middle of the house that was going to be theirs, something felt weird. Foreign. _Calm down_ , she told herself, taking deep breaths as she was instructed to. _Nothing's changed since yesterday, or the day before_. Oberyn's warmth was surrounding her, and he was holding her tightly, and the full extent of her decision hit her like a wrecking ball. Had she made the right call ?

“You can still stop this. All of this.” he spoke, as though he could read her mind.

Sansa shook her head. Wrong choice or not, she was seeing this through. _Of all the things people called her, quitter never was or never will be one of those._ “It's perfectly normal for the bride to be nervous before her wedding. Especially if her groom is one of the wealthiest, most powerful men in the city.”

Her husband-to-be let out a quick laugh.

“And I'm still not quite sure what I'm bringing to the table.” Sansa frowned.

Sighing, Oberyn let her loose, and she turned to face him, hoping to read in his face the answers that she was looking for. He stared at her for a while, visibly pondering his words.

“I know who I am, Sansa; I have spent too many years with myself not to know. I am a hot headed man, with violent and rash reactions. That is not all I am, but it is part of me. You, on the other hand – whatever life throws at you, no matter how you feel, you weight the pros and cons before you make a decision. You are cool, composed. Focused.” he smiled crookedly. “I tend to lose mine too easily. I need you to help me stay on target.”

“How do you know all of this ?” Sansa marveled at him.

“I observed you in class.” he shrugged, now smiling fully, as if the answer was obvious.

“Of course you did.” Sansa rolled her eyes, making Oberyn laugh. “This could be considered creepy, you know. Older man, young impressionable woman barely out of her teens.”

Oberyn frowned slightly, and was about to answer when the realtor, all smiles, came back to the room, followed by their attorney.

 

* * *

 

“Ready for tomorrow ?”

Sansa and Oberyn were eating take-out from one of his favourite restaurants, sitting on opposite sides of the kitchen island in their new home – they hadn't actually moved in yet, although the deed was in both their names and the check cleared, but Sansa had insisted they see it again in the twilight -. The light was dim, but the view was breathtaking : they could see the sunset, pink and red and orange, all of it from their chairs; the house was quiet, eerily empty, but peaceful. The young woman was content, full and untroubled for the first in a such a long time that she couldn't even remember the feeling.

They had an appointment at City Hall at eleven the next morning, with Jynessa as their witness. Sansa was both nervous and serene at the same time about it; serene at the idea of never being hungry again, of being safe and cared for, nervous at the idea of sharing her life with a man she barely knew. She looked over at him, smiling.

“No.” she smiled even wider.

Oberyn tilted his head, perplexed.

“But that's exciting. Isn't it ? Getting married.” Sansa pushed her plate aside. “I had given up on that idea a long time ago.”

“We could hold off, and give you time to plan a perfect wedding. If you want.” Oberyn proposed.

“There isn't anyone I would want there.” she shook her head. “If you're okay with a private wedding, I'd rather we go to city hall, sign the papers, maybe embarass everyone with some pda.”

Oberyn chuckled, lifting an eyebrow. “Are you planning to ravish me, miss Stark ?”

“Ha ! I wouldn't even know how.”

“Would you like me to teach you ?”

Sansa once again marveled at the fact that, with only a few words, Oberyn could change a whole atmosphere, and charge it with so much electricity that she felt it from her fingertips to her toes. She gazed up at him, observing his features one by one, his smile, sly, daring; his eyes, enticing; his lips, too inviting for her taste – she remembered that feeling, she used to devote it to Joffrey Baratheon; but this was different somehow. She was different, less doe-eyed - and yet she was waiting to be swept off her feet all the same.

“Aren't you supposed to wait until after the wedding ?” she tried to tease him, change the subject. _Why was she feeling so vulnerable, so exposed_?

“You don't have to be scared of me, Sansa. I won't devour you whole.”

“I'm not scared.” she protested, shaking her head. “I am …”

Struggling to find a word that properly described how she was feeling, Sansa fell into silence.

“Overwhelmed ?” Oberyn suggested.

“Yes.” she sighed. “This is so different from what I know, you have no idea.”

Pushing his plate aside, Oberyn got up and came over to Sansa's side of the island. In one swift motion, so quick and smooth that she didn't realise what had been done until she was put down, Oberyn lifted her from her seat to the counter. She was shocked, her mouth opened in surprise, and it didn't even occur to her to resist when he place himself between her legs. Now at eye level, he gently put his palms over her cheeks, whispering.

“If you let me, I will try to undo everything that that vile beast of a child has done to you.”

Sansa blushed with shame. _How did he know ?_

“It doesn't have to be tonight, it doesn't have to be tomorrow – we are to spent a part of our life together, and I want you to enjoy it fully. If our vows tomorrow are hollow, here is what I promise you : I will give everything that I have, body and soul, to make sure you are whole when you are ready to move on with the next chapter of your life. I promise to put the Lannisters in their place, for what they have done to my family and yours -”

“I don't want revenge.” Sansa interrupted, placing the tip of her fingers on his mouth. “Revenge only brings destruction. I want to show them that they may have tried everything that they could to silence me and the wrongs that have been done to my family, but I still stand. They will not defeat me. Nor will they defeat you. If they try to take your company, then fight, but don't avenge. It will consume you.”

After silence fell and lasted, Sansa worried that she might have gone too far, but Oberyn finally nudged her fingers before kissing them and taking them away with one hand.

“And here I thought you were a child.” he teased.

“Ha! Serves you right.” she smiled, then, cupping his nape with her free hand, she brought his head forward and kissed his forehead.

Neither moved for a while after that, basking in each other's warmth and a newfound intimacy that somehow made Sansa feel relieved instead of scared, as though she had finally, finally seen the light and made it through the tunnel.

 

* * *

 

Catelyn Stark, if she were alive, would have been appalled at her daughter's behaviour: instead of waiting for their wedding night, Sansa and Oberyn's first night together had been the night before that. Oberyn had refused to let her go back to Flea Bottom when it was time to leave the penthouse, and, truthfully, Sansa hadn't really wanted to refuse him.

In the morning, though, she slightly regretted it: she had barely slept. Not only because the bed had been an unfamiliar one – her own was so old and rundown that it was lumpy and you could feel all the springs, but she was used to it -, but, as it turned out, sleeping in the same bed as someone came with a myriad of challenges. Sansa wouldn't have guessed it in a hundred years; she had always thought it was easy, each person on their side, barely affecting the other – oh, how she had been wrong.

Oberyn was warm, that much she knew, but that heat spread through the sheets and to her, leaving her unable to cool down. She tried to sleep over the sheets, her feet sticking out of the bed, she tried pushing him as far away from her as possible – nothing worked. It was around three o'clock that she had decided to let it go, abandon the idea of ever sleeping that night. She turned to Oberyn, watched how his chest rose and fell, an arm draped over his face. It was almost comical, to see him like this; but she was too annoyed at him to smile. _Why can_ he _sleep ? How ?_ She wondered. _Doesn't he feel warm ?_ Pulled by curiosity, Sansa scooted closer and extended her arm to feel his skin. Which, as she came to find out immediately after, had been quite a mistake. He didn't wake, but his whole body turned to her and imprisonned her against him, and Sansa would have yelped with surprise had she had her voice. But there was something to being cuddled, and Sansa fell asleep to the sound of his slow breathing, her face to his chest, gently rocked into oblivion.

She woke a few hours after that, still wrapped against her future husband, realizing once she was fully awake that not only had she drooled on him – she tried to sweep it off without waking him – but that she was trapped. No matter how she moved, Oberyn followed, his arm around her waist tightening. She tried to wiggle herself free, tried to push him back, tried to get his arm off her, all to no avail. She had barely been able to turn around before she gave up, sighing. She would just have to wait until Oberyn woke up.

As she tried to relax, her thoughts turned, as they often did, to her mother, Catelyn. _She would have killed me on the spot, if she knew where I had spent the night_. She already nearly had killed her when she had understood just what she'd given to Joffrey, but this was different : she hadn't done anything with Oberyn, and she had something more substancial than a promise to hold him to marry her this time. She had just slept in his arms, not even for very long, and Catelyn wasn't there any longer. Sansa was on her own.

Oberyn stirred, and a thought bumped into her head : she wasn't on her own any more, actually. In about four hours, she'd have a _husband_. She smiled, tickled softly by his movements against her, shivered when he kissed her shoulder.

“Good morning.” he whispered, yawning.

“Good morning.” she repeated, only half hoping he'd move his arm.

She felt him nuzzle against her shoulder and back. “Sorry, I seem to have not been able to uphold my promise not to touch you when in bed.”

“I did try to push you, but you held on tight.” she laughed.

She felt him smile against her skin.

“Are you always this warm, though ?” she inquired.

“I'm a Southerner.”

“And I'm a Northerner. I'm not used to the heat.”

“I'd say let's try sleeping with open windows, but I'm not sure balmy winds are going to help.”

He kissed her shoulder again, then lifted his arm and sat up on the edge of the bed, yawning again. When Sansa turned around, he was still, and she could hear him breathe deeply in and out. Out of curiosity and upon impulse, she got up as well, reached out and hugged him from behind, making him chuckle. She wrapped her ams around his waist, wondering what in seven hells she was doing, except that his shirt smelled nice and _he_ smelled nice, and that, damn it, she had missed being able to touch somebody else without fear.

She could never have reach out like that to Joffrey, as he would only have pushed her away and asked her not to be so clingy and pathetic; her father and Robb were not demonstrative in their affections, and she couldn't for the life of her remember if they had ever spontaneously hugged her without her asking for it; she had never been close enough to any of her other siblings, and as for her mother, hugs were rewards, expressed love the carrot she used to dangle in front of her daughter's face. And since they had all been taken from her, she hadn't had the time or will to find somebody else to touch like this, casually, like they were exchanging words on the streets.

“Are you okay ?” Oberyn asked her.

“Yes.” she smiled, and the next thing she knew, she was on his lap and they were holding each other so tight that Sansa almost had trouble breathing.

 

* * *

 

Even though all of her stuff had been put in boxes – five, to be precise – Sansa had put aside the outfit she was to get married in from the day she'd started 'dating' Oberyn Martell. It was nothing fancy anymore, and even if her wedding was unorthodox – to say the least -, she still had picked the traditionnal dress in her house colours to wear.

She had her debutante ball in that dress, a long time ago; and she had danced with who she thought was the prince of her dreams all night, to the dismay of all the other girls. She'd gone to bed happy, that night – all had been well in the world.

The dress had two layers : a grey petticoat, tight fitted and shaping her curves, and a white lace that was pinned from shoulders to waist, but flowed to her knees, with three quarters sleeves. It was shorter than she remembered, and tighter, too; but it was still beautiful, and even though Sansa had let go a lot of wedding cermony traditions, she couldn't let go of that one. She braided her hair on the side, looked at her reflection in the mirror of the bathroom, and nodded. She was as ready as she would ever be.

She knew that her boxes would be taken to Oberyn's to be stored until their big move tomorrow, and neither Mya nor Myranda were home, so she left them both a note and left as soon as she heard the car pull up. She may miss her roommates, but she was certain she wouldn't miss this icky, ghastly shoe box of an appartment. Oberyn smiled as he saw her, slowly, and told her, with sparkles in his eyes, how beautiful she was.

The whole affair took fifteen minutes, and five of those were spent waiting for a municipal agent to come in the room, after which Sansa felt eerily at peace. The cermony was short, Oberyn made her laugh and roll her eyes, they exchanged rings and were declared married by a bored looking member of City Hall. Jynessa congratulated them, and they were off to Oberyn's place. It felt somehow very underwhelming to Sansa, who had asked for this and yet felt like they both had deserved more. But they were married, and that was the important thing – although Oberyn hadn't kissed her yet. Once in his living-room, he presented her with a wrapped box.

“I had it made for today.” he softly told her. “I wasn't sure you might want it at first, but then I saw your dress and I think you might like it.”

Intrigued, she opened it to find a rich, orange and gold fabric which turned out to be a cloak that extended to the floor. She had always wanted a traditional noble wedding, although she had never said so to anyone; and the groom wrapping his bride in a cloak that bore his house colours was a crucial point, signifying the acceptance of the bride into her groom's family. Seeing such a gift between her fingers brought tears to Sansa's eyes.

“How did you know ?” she breathed, almost too low for him to hear.

“I had an feeling.”

Softly, he took it from her hands and placed in on her shoulders, fastening it around her neck with nothing but tenderness. She had trouble looking at him for a few seconds after that, battling the emotion rising from her throat, but she eventually looked up.

“Thank you.”

Grinning, he pulled her in a gentle embrace. “You're very welcome, little wife.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

Sansa had never thought she'd find worse weather than King's Landing's; it only took her a day to figure out how wrong she had been. Dorne's was heavier, hotter, and drier – it surrounded and choked her whenever she was outside. She thanked the Gods she'd only taken her lightest clothes, or she would have been sure to walk around half naked at all times.

Oberyn's estate in Dorne was vast, secluded, and cared for by extremely loyal staff members who all looked happy to see him again. He shook everyone's hand, greeted everyone with a warm smile, and there was pride in his voice when he introduced Sansa to them, an arm around her waist. A couple had looked shocked, a few had been overjoyed, but most beamed at her and had curiosity in their eyes. So far in their three week trip, they had all made her feel comfortable and at home, and all of Sansa's apprehension had gone.

Unfortunately for the young couple, their first day away had been interrupted by urgent news from King's Landing, from he Martell Building; it seemed like a client had backed out of a contract, leaving a hole where a new partnership should be, and Oberyn had been forced to go back to work. He had looked angry, preparing to fly back to the capital, and had lengthily hugged Sansa before leaving.

“I'm sorry.” he'd told her over and over. “This isn't fair on you.”

“Well,” Sansa had tried to joke, “I did marry a busy businessman. I knew this was on the table.”

He had smiled at her, his whole face softening. “You are perfect.”

Sansa giggled. “I hardly think so. But thank you. Now go, before I change my mind and keep you here.”

“I'd be all right with that, you know.” he had breathed, his voice throaty and low.

 _There it was again_ , Sansa had thought. _Electricity_. Her heart had started to beat faster, and she'd taken a step closer to him, acting upon impulse, she'd gotten on her toes, had slid a hand around his neck, and the next thing she remembered was the two of them kissing.

It had been sweet at first, shy and yet comforting, and Sansa recalled thinking how different this one kiss had felt from Joffey's : she hadn't wanted to recoil from him as she had once wanted to recoil from Joffrey, and she knew she would have given everything that Oberyn would have wanted to take on the spot, without hesitation. She had clung to him as he had clutched her, and the kiss had turned sizzling – at least to her opinion, she had no idea whether or not Oberyn had liked it; she made a mental note to ask him when he comes back -, his fingers gripping her waist, pulling her to him.

They had been interrupted by Oberyn's chauffeur clearing his throat, telling them they had to go if they wanted to catch the flight back, and Oberyn had disappeared with a groan, a kiss on her nose and a last smile.

She'd spent the next week getting to know the staff members, lending a hand when they would let her, hoping to be kind enough and interesting enough to make them like her, maybe even make them understand that all she wanted was to be a good wife to their employer. They seemed to enjoy her company, but it was still too early to tell; and Sansa knew that she shouldn't disrupt their job incessantly, so she soon let them work, and set up to explore the house and the grounds.

The house in itself was beautiful, rustic; it was smaller than she had thought it would be, but it felt like a home rather than a palace – the real pearl here was the outside. Somehow, in the desert that was Dorne, the estate was an oasis of green and blue and trees, colors like Sansa had never seen before, vibrant but not tacky, complementing each other at every turn. There were smells, too, peaches ripening and flowers blooming; there were sounds of birds and, though there was no wind, the leaves still sang, somehow. Sansa walked the alleys that lead to the pool, she walked up to the greenhouse – although why they needed a greenhouse was beyond her -, to the orchard and the gazebo. She spent her late afternoons and evenings walking, when the heat was bearable and everything looked asleep, she marveled at everything and came back inside with a smile that would not fade.

Sansa, to her surprise, did not get accustomed to having a staff and an expensive lifestyle straight away; she still gaped at having as much food as she wanted without paying for anything, gaped at how no one avoided her when she passed by or joined a conversation, gaped at the fact that she was free from thinking about the contents of her bank account very ten seconds or that she was headed straight to disaster. She was calmer, and yet unsettled; were her troubles really over ? She thought about it a lot, especially at night – she still had a fucked up sleep schedule due to years of bartending and working until three am every day – and found herself wishing for Oberyn. _He_ would know how to distract her. She generally left him alone to work, but she did text him just before she went to bed – she'd gotten a new phone off the internet – to make sure he remembered to eat and rest.

Along with a new phone, Sansa had gotten herself a laptop, nothing fancy, but something that worked; and off of that, she'd gotten herself a whole new wardrobe – Sansa had forgotten how fun shopping was, escpecially when you could do it half naked and in your bed – and even some things for Oberyn such as shirts that would probably end up on her. She bought summer dresses and evening dresses, fashionable outfits and hats, all the make up she'd been dreaming about wearing for years and hair products, she bought and waited for the parcels to arrive, squeaking like a child and almost jumping up and down when they did, trying everything on at once, locked in her room and spending way too much time in front of the mirror. She felt like a teenager all over again, carefree and silly and happy, and she couldn't wait to show everything off to her husband.

He may not have wanted a teenager with dreams of a perfect life, but that was part of who she was, just as she was a survivor and a fighter; and he'd just have to accept that.

It was late at night when Oberyn came back to Dorne, and Sansa was half asleep when he stepped into their room. She heard nothing of his arrival, and thought it was a dream when she felt the mattress shift, a kiss on her shoulder and an arm around her waist. She moaned softly and sleepily, pushing her back against him. _It's a nice dream_ , she thought. She could feel his lips on her neck, as tangible as she could feel the bed beneath her or the sudden warmth around her.

“Is this really a dream ?” she breathed, eyes closed, her head thrown back on his shoulder.

There was a chuckle on her skin and the feel of five fingers slowly moving up her stomach.

“No, Sansa.” she heard, the 's' as sexy as she remembered him saying it. “I'm here.”

She finally opened her eyes, her lids fluttering against sleep, rolled around to face her husband. Not leaving him time to say anything else, she pulled herself up and kissed him again, absolutely unaware and uncaring that her shirt was riding up her belly and that she had no pyjama bottoms on, that his hand was burning her lower back and that he was probably tired and wanted nothing more than to sleep without being assaulted by a girl he barely knew.

She couldn't and wouldn't stop, her hands in his hair and her mouth devouring his lips, and when he pushed her back onto the bed, now over her instead of next to her, her legs parted to accommodate him without hesitation. He was smiling against her lips, she could feel it, and she would have smiled too were she not so concentrated on how good it felt, there, between his body and the bed, how suddenly the warmth was no longer a problem and that she wanted more of it, all of it; she arched her back and couldn't stop thinking about how his palms on her thighs were scalding, she'd have bruises of his imprint tomorrow. His lips left hers and fell on her jaw, on her neck, tracing down to her shirt, groaning at it, making Sansa wiggle and giggle, and she threw her arms up. Getting the message with a lopsided smile, Oberyn slid it off her with a quick motion, revealing her naked torso, and she could hear his breath hitch just before he plunged and put one of her breasts in his mouth, sucking on her nipple. She bit her lip, shuddering, her fingers clutching the headboard so hard that her knuckles turned white, her heart pounding in her pants. If this was how aroused felt, then Joffrey did it more than wrong; he had been so far from this that what he had made her feel was on a different planet altogether – this, right now, made her brain stop turning, her skin was on fire, and she was nowhere from begging him to stop; if anything, she was about to beg him never to stop.

She hadn't even realized that she was grinding against him, but she felt him tense up against her, his mouth becoming more insistent and less soft; he bit the skin on her clavicle and rasped against her skin.

“Open your legs, Sansa.”

Shuddering, she obeyed, and was rewarded instantly by his hand between her thighs, over her underwear, fingers pressing softly into the wet spot. She moaned and grabbed him by the shoulders. He rubbed his fingers against the fabric of her pants, eliciting shrieks of pleasure from her, her own fingers digging into the skin of his nape, and she could feel his eyes on her face.

“You're really wet.” he whispered. “Have you been thinking about this, us ?”

There was no judgment in his voice, simply curiosity and pride.

“Dreaming.” she finally managed to say, her breath hitching as he pressed down.

“Me, too.” he admitted, his fingers leaving her to come up to the hem of her underwear.

“Every night, dreaming about how you'd feel.” he went on, sliding his hand back down under the fabric, leaving goosebumps where he passed. Sansa's nipples were so hard they had started to hurt.

“Every day, thinking about that kiss, about those dreams, about those legs.” His voice was strained, hoarse, and Sansa bit her lip again, wanting to beg for his fingers to come back, but not remembering how to speak.

“About doing this.” There was suddenly a fingertip on her clit, and Sansa shouted, her whole body arching up to him, and he was kissing her again.

She couldn't concentrate, too much was going on and her body took over her mind. She lifted her hips to his, facilitating his access, but he simply continued circling her clit with a finger, no matter hw much she wanted more, and she tugged at him over and over, trying to get him to go faster.

She had been dreaming about this, in the weird stages where she was sleeping but not really sleeping, and she'd woken up from every single one of those dreams sweaty and wet, most oftentimes on her side, with her arm between her legs, grinding on it and grasping at the dream, trying to recreate the feeling it had given her, but she always came up short.

But this, what Oberyn was doing, felt a hundred times better than those dreams.

“More.” she croaked agaisnt his lips. “Please.”

He smirked, speeding up his rhythm as she moaned harder, mouth open and head back. She had felt him move back, opened her eyes to see that he was observing her with a smile, syncing up his movements with hers, and his eyes burned into her just as she felt a finger sliding inside of her.

A flash of Joffrey pushing into her jerked before her eyes. She tensed up, hard, all of a sudden, her legs closed on their own. She felt Oberyn's hand leave her as he moved back closer to her.

“Shit, are you all right ?” he frowned.

She closed her eyes, trying to calm herself, focusing on her breathing.

Oberyn's palm was on her cheek. “Answer me, please.” he urged, softly.

“I'm sorry.” she breathed, her heart speeding up. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-”

“Shh. You're all right.” Oberyn coddled her, pulling her against him, kissing her forehead. “You're all right.”

It took her a few minutes to calm down, breathe normally, and be able to to form a coherent thought.

“Oberyn, I'm sorry.” she said again.

“Don't. It's okay.” he kissed her forehead again. “Just tell me you're all right.”

Sansa nodded against his skin. “Yeah.”

“Joffrey ?”

She nodded again, but said nothing more. She heard him swear under his breath, his jaw closing.

“Don't be mad.” she whispered.

“Don't be mad ?” he reapeated, scoffing. “He hurt you. He's lucky if I don't hang him by the testicles.”

Despite herself, Sansa started giggling, and, with her nerves falling, her giggles turned into laughter, and soon she couldn't stop.

“Sorry.” she breathed again.

He sighed, keeping her close to him, arms surrounding her and protecting her. Sansa fell asleep like this, rocked by his chest moving up and down, and was lost to the world until morning.

 

* * *

 

She woke up as the sun was already quite high in the sky. The bed was empty, but the bathroom door was open and Sansa could hear the shower running. She stretched, still naked but for her panties, and sat up, knees against her chest, dozing happily. She felt a little sore, which made her wonder : had they gone all the way, just how sore would she feel ? She couldn't remember how her body felt after Joffrey had torn through, she could only remember her shame, her fear, how hard she worked to hide the tears that always welled up during and after – _no !_ She admonished herself. She had to stop thinking about him. She had a husband now, a good man who was attracted to her, willing to stop and wait and make her feel better. _He_ was the one she should be thinking about. _He_ was the one who deserved to be on her mind.

As if on cue, Oberyn came out of the bathroom, wearing nothing but a towel around his hips, and Sansa's heart gave a pang! as she stared.

She'd seen him in a shirt, in a t-shirt, in his pyjamas – but never like this, hald dried and hald naked, his hair wet and falling on his face. She couldn't stop looking as her eyes moved across his torso, down his arms and his stomach; he was toned, and smooth, and she desperately wanted to touch him, kiss him, lick him. She felt her cheeks go scarlet at the mere thought.

“You shouldn't look at me like that, little wife.” he warned. “You're giving me a lot of ideas.”

Agaisnt her better judgment – stop looking ! she wanted to shout at herself – Sansa looked up into his eyes, blackened and sizzling.

“Like what ?” she heard herself ask.

He smirked. “Like tearing those covers off you and start against where we left off yesterday.”

He moved towards her like a panther, and Sansa was mesmerized.

“Yes, please.”

The covers flew off the bed, thrown back by Oberyn, and she was once again on her back, expectant and yet relaxed, promising herself that she would follow his lead, that she wouldn't panic, that she – she yelped as he gingerly bit the soft flesh of her right breast.

“Get out of your head.” he commanded.

“Okay.” she muttered, diving her fingers into his hair.

He sucked on her nipple as he had the night before, getting the same reaction from her, before moving down to her stomach, trailing soft kisses on her skin.

“Let's do things a little differently, though.” he whispered, making her shudder. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes.” She hadn't even needed to think about it.

He smiled, his hands grabbing her underwear and sliding it down her legs, then throwing it on the floor, away from her. Sansa watched it fall, wondering what he had meant, slowly realized it as his mouth went down, down, down and disappeared between her thighs. Her whole body turned electric, his lightest kiss a revelation, and Sansa clasped a palm on her mouth to keep quiet.

The tip of his tongue was on her clit, playing with it and sucking on it, and her hips jerked towards him. She heard him chuckle, going back to kissing and teasing it, before his tongue was licking her cunt. Sansa couldn't stop moaning, thinking about how nothing had ever felt as good as this, not even his fingers yesterday, not even the dreams and the kissing, this was it, this would always be it. Her toes curled as he kept going, plunging slightly in as he felt her yield under his mouth, and the pleasure built under her hand couldn't drown the sounds anymore and she was just using it to keep her grip on reality. Soon, his whole tongue was inside, then back out; it was everywhere at once and Sansa lost track of it. She clasped her hands in his hair, her back arched, blind and mute and exploding from the inside out, and everything seemed to suddenly stop.

The next thing she knew, Oberyn was looking up at her, his eyes piercing into her, kissing the inside of her thighs, her lower stomach, her torso, her clavicles. She slowly came back to the room, feeling exhausted and warm and happy.

“Are you all right ?” he inquired, lying next to her, an elbow on the mattress supporting his head.

She nodded vigorously, unable to speak.

“I'm guessing nobody had done that to you before.” he added, lower.

She shook her head.

“Good. I wanted to be your first for something.”

Sansa giggled. “You're my first husband.”

Oberyn smiled.

“And the first to make me feel like this.” she continued.

His smile faded, and he frowned. “You've never come before ?”

“No.” she shrugged.

“You've never touched yourself ?”

“It wasn't exactly my priority.”

“Never ?” he urged, not quite believing her.

“No. Is that weird ?”

“Yes.” he chuckled, stroking her cheek softly, kissing her nose. “At least, I think so.”

“Oh.” Sansa frowned. She knew she was far behind other women her age, but she had never thought she was _weird_.

“Although,” her husband continued, “I kind of like it.”

Sansa giggled. “Now, that's weird. I thought men liked women who are … adventurous.”

“I like you.” Oberyn only answered, and Sansa once again was filled with warmth.

 

* * *

 

 

Sansa took her second tour of the estate, this time with Oberyn holding her hand and giving her a commentary on his family's history, the kind of plants his gardener had planted, the story behind his buying this particular house. They talked about Oberyn's past, his job, his family; they strolled slowly through the grounds, watched the sun set and colour the sky orange and pink, they kissed as the night fell and the moon rose. Oberyn took his work in bed with them, his affair not yet concluded, and he asked for Sansa's advice and help which she readily and whole-heartedly gave him, happy to be of service, to earn her keep somehow. He asked what she wanted to do now that she had a choice, and she had been unable to answer, the question turning and turning inside her mind all night. Now that she was married to Oberyn, no one would take her seriously as a businesswoman, she had understood that before she chose to marry him; but business was all she knew how to do. Well, that and run a house as her mother did and taught her, but she wasn't sure Oberyn would let her become a housekeeper.

“How about helping those who are in the same conditions as you were ? In debt and unable to find a decent job ?” Oberyn offered the next morning, as he saw that she had barely slept.

Yes, that would have been a valuable idea, had she known just how to help. Hoping to drop the subject until she had proper ideas and viable solutions, Sansa kissed Oberyn until he forgot everything else but the wife who was on his stomach, her hands roaming and her kiss enticing.

Even though Sansa was sure she could have forced herself, and she was at least willing to try to, Oberyn categorically refused to try fingering her again; she asked, she pleaded, she begged, but nothing – Oberyn kept his fingers away. He did, however, made her come over her underwear, he made her come with his mouth, he even made her come as she humped his thigh upon his request. Every time he asked nothing in return, but kissed her and held her until she was coherent again, and Sansa was unable to return the favour no matter how much she may have wanted to.

“Baby steps.” he'd told her as she would fall asleep. “We have all the time in the world.”

When he had to work or spend time away from her, Sansa gathered up the courage to ask the internet for tips on how to masturbate – she was hells bent on being able to get past her stupid fear -, how to to seduce a man, how to make him come with her hands or her mouth. The problem was, she didn't know what was good advice or bad advice, and the internet was so full of everything that she felt like she was drowning in information. _Shit_ , she thought, _I'm still as uninformed as before, even more now that I have so many questions_. Frustrated, she shut down the browser. What was she supposed to do ? Who did girls ask those questions to ? _Their mothers ?_ Surely not, right ?

Sighing, she closed the computer down and put it aside. She wouldn't get anywhere with that thing; the only one who would have the answers was Oberyn, and she wasn't going to ask him. Changing into her swimsuit – the day was almost over, the heat would be bearable -, Sansa walked to the pool, determined to forget about all of it. She would just have to cross that bridge when she got to it.

To balance her now eating three times a day and not working, Sansa was determined to keep active: she swam, walked, followed a workout routine she'd found on the internet – it really was a wonderful place sometimes – and, of course, burnt calories kissing Oberyn. She could get used to it, she thought, the oisivity and leisure of a rich person's life. Which is exactly why she was glad their three weeks of vacation were almost over, and they would soon go back to King's Landing, to its endless activity. It would certainly help her in finding a new career path, maybe a new passion. Anything that would prevent her from only being the wife of.

She'd been swimming for a while, languidly, dreaming under the hot sun, when Oberyn joined her.

“Well, you look like you're having fun.” he teased her.

She smiled, opened her eyes, blinking under the light. “How was work ?”

“Boring. Endless.”

He took his shirt off and Sansa once again couldn't help but stare. He was unfastening his pants when Sansa exited the pool, moving towards him, and he shuddered when she put her palm on his stomach. She gently pushed him backwards, his pants falling down to his hips, until he stumbled on a sun lounger and sat down on it. Grabbing her by the waist, he pulled her down with him so that she was sitting on him.

“You sound like a man who truly loves his work.” she giggled.

“Or a man who just got married and can't stop thinking about his wife.”

Sansa laughed harder, only stopping when Oberyn pulled her into a hug, sheltering her from the falling light of the sun, kissing the top of her head. She sensed that there was something wrong, something that he wanted to say; but she couldn't do anything but wait until he was ready.

“Sansa ?” he finally started after a few minutes of silence.

“Hm-hm.”

She pushed back in order to be able to look at him, scan his face.

“Are you forcing yourself ?”

Sansa frowned, not grasping his meaning right away.

“I mean, I've barely been able to stop touching you – I guess I wanted to know if -”

“If I was faking it ?” Sansa finished for him.

“Yes.”

It was his turn to scan her face, and he looked so sheepish, so fragile, somehow; Sansa had to reassure him immediately.

“I'm not.” she smiled, kissed the tip of his nose lightly. “I thought, before going into this, ...”

“You thought you'd have to ?” It was his turn to frown.

“What ? No. I thought I'd be useless. That _you_ 'd get no pleasure from me. That you'd be bored.”

“That's-”

“The point is,” she interrupted him before he could finish, “I love it when you touch me. I feel like I've come alive for the first time.”

Smiling, Oberyn closed his eyes, resting his head against her upper torso. _Is this enough_ , she wondered, _did this make him feel better ?_ She had to keep going.

“Everything you do, every touch, every kiss, all of it, I never thought I would get a second chance at it, least of all with someone willing to wait until I'm ready. Until I feel safe. I thought all of it was over for me.” She let out a deep breath. “So, no. I'm not forcing myself to do it for you. I'm enjoying the fact that you seem like you love it.”

“I don't want you to think that you have to do anything that you don't want to do.”

His breath on her skin made her shiver.

“I don't. If anything, I think I want to do it all.”

Oberyn chuckled against her. “It might be a tad early for that.”

“Maybe. I guess we'll just have to try and find out.” she teased him.

“I guess so, too.”

He reappeared before her, smiling widly, the hint of sadness in his eyes completely gone. _I'll have to ask him about it sooner or later_ , Sansa realized; _but I think for now I'll just make him happy._

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this chapter took so long in coming. Thank you for all the wonderful comments, kudos and bookmarks.

Arriving home from their honeymoon in Dorne after the long flight and the horrendous traffic felt like dipping your toes into a hot bath after a hard day to Sansa: delicious. Oberyn had insisted upon carrying her across the threshold, and he had made her laugh until her stomach hurt, pretending not to being able to hold her long enough, pretending to let her fall, and when they had both calmed down, Sansa had kissed him lightly and told him he was an idiot. In her mind, though, in her mind she was telling him that she was falling for him, but she kept quiet, fearing he'd let her go if he knew, fearing he'd tell her that he didn't want a wife who was in love with him, that he wanted a wife that would stand by him and sleep with him, but would still remain detached enough to leave when she was asked. And she couldn't go back out there, she just couldn't.

So she kept quiet, pushed the thought to the back of her mind and buried it as Oberyn pretended to be insulted, scoffing.

“How dare you, madam.”

Grabbing her by the waist, he hoisted her up on his shoulder – very easily, too, which made her start to think that she may need to put on a couple of pounds. Or five, or ten. - and, with her wiggling and laughing and shrieking, he made his way up the stairs.

“Where are you taking me, fiend ?”

“Hush, wench.”

Sansa scoffed, shocked. “Did you just call me wench ?”

“Did you just call me fiend ?” he pinched her butt, and Sansa cried out in surprise.

“Well, that wasn't very nice.” she teased.

Chuckling, he released his grip on her, tugging at her so that she slid down. As her feet touched the ground, he kissed her so violently and so passionately that she was left spinning for a second when he pulled away, her breath completely gone.

“Wow.” she muttered under her breath. Was it her, or were there stars in the room ?

She recognized their bathroom as the walls came back into place, and she heard the sound of water pouring down before she fully realized what they were about to do. Her heart flipped in her chest, and she turned to see her husband take off his shoes.

“Am I supposed to watch, or should I undress as well ? I'm good either way.” she smirked.

Oberyn roared with laughter. “ _I'_ ll undress you when I'm done. Until then, feel free to watch, please.”

She shivered with anticipation, staring as the jacket fell to the floor, followed by the tie, the shirt, the pants. Each item sent a shrill of adrenaline through her veins, her heart beating hard, her breath hitching as her husband was almost finally naked.

Even though they had been married for three weeks, and even though Oberyn had seen her nude and basking in post orgasm glory, _she_ had never actually seen _him_ naked. She had tried, though, but he had always gently pushed her away and told her there'd be time for that later, that they had more than time, and she hadn't known how to convince him. Was it so wrong that she wanted to look at him ? She wanted to touch him, feel it under her fingers, maybe, if she knew what she was doing, make him feel as good as he was making her feel. Maybe she wasn't supposed to want this, though, and maybe that was why he wouldn't let her. Maybe she was supposed to just let him say when she was allowed to see, or touch.

 _Ugh_ , she pested in her head. _Why were there so many rules, and why didn't she know most of them ? How was she supposed to know these things ?_ She stifled a sigh.

“Something wrong, little wife ?” Oberyn called out, walking towards her.

“Do you remember your first relationship ?” she asked him as he slid his arms around her.

“Hm.Yes. I was fifteen, and she was called Sylvenna.” he smiled.

“How was it ? Being with her ?”

“It was a long time ago – why do you ask ?” With deft fingers, his eyes not leaving her face, Oberyn undid the knot that kept her dress in place, and the fabric fell around her.

“I'm just wondering if it was as hard for you as it is for me.” she shivered against the sudden coolness.

Oberyn reached away to turn off the faucet, then focused back on her. “What's hard, Sansa ?”

She swallowed, unsure if she should go on, but Oberyn was looking at her, frowning, worrying; she didn't want it to worry him.

“Knowing what you're supposed to do, what you're allowed to do. Or not to do.” she sighed. “It's just a lot of rules.”

Silence followed her words, and she felt stupid for saying anything at all. _She should have held her tongue_.

“Forget the rules, Sansa.” Oberyn whispered. “Go with your gut. Do what feels right.”

 

* * *

 

Oberyn was right : the tub _was_ big enough for two. She was leisurely leaning against her new husband, the water was warm and soapy, and it felt great against her skin; in short, Sansa was in heaven. She would have fallen asleep, were it not for the gentle caress on her stomach and waist that jolted her awake, and Oberyn's slow breath in her hair. It was incredible, to have him so close, so intimate, and yet knowing that he expected nothing from her in return – Sansa's heart felt tight, as though it had grown inside her chest, filling her with the sweetest pain. He was gentle, and kind, and he was everything she had ever wanted in a spouse; and yet she craved for more.

“Can I ask you a question ?” she inquired, suddenly.

“Shoot.”

“Coming into this-, us-” she tried to choose her words carefully, “did you want this ?”

“Did I want what ?” His breath tickled her ear.

“Intimacy. Sex.”

Just saying the word felt illicit, for some reason, despite her being anything but innocent. She simply just had never said it at loud before, at least not unless expressely prompted to. Oberyn smiled in her hair.

“Meeting you at school and my office was one thing;” he started after after a second of silence. “you were guarded, but fiery. Sex had crossed my mind, I won't lie – but it wasn't the reason I wanted you.” he sighed. “At dinner, on the other hand ...”

Images of Oberyn and her eating, casual and at ease, filled her mind. She'd been attraced to him, that night, in a way she had never been before; afterwards, she hadn't imagined holding hands or chastly kissing as she had once dreamed of Joffrey, no - she had fallen asleep imagining his hands on her, a rough and heated embrace between sheets, the details fuzzy but the picture alluring.

“If you had said no to me that night, Sansa,” his voice was hoarse, gruff, the touch on her stomach no longer sweet but scorching. “I'd have chased you until you would've said yes.”

Sansa bit her lip to refrain from moaning. _How in seven Hells was he able to turn her on with just words ?_

“I would have seduced you slowly, making you want me just as much as I've been wanting you since then.” he went on, her blood boiling as he spoke.

Sansa squirmed under his touch, under his fingers going down, down, down on her skin, the now familiar feeling of desire running up her bones.

“Do you like knowing that you have that effect on me, my little wife ?”

There was no harshness in his voice, but she felt the demand all the same. “Yes.”

“Do you like knowing that I want you so much that I can't stop touching you ?”

“Yes !” she breathed, his fingers on her thighs, moving away from the place she so badly wanted touched.

“I was trying so hard to be good, to not push you somewhere you might not have wanted to go;” he whispered in her ear, “but you _unraveled_ me with a kiss.”

There was a silence, quiet where Sansa wanted to plead for him to touch her, but his fingers had left her skin.

“You blew my resolve to high heaven with two simple kisses.” he continued, his tone heavy and slick with lust. “A barely awake, half naked you succeeded where no other woman ever has, and ever will; I forgot everything, I forgot decency, I forgot the situation. There was just you, and that kiss of yours, and the hottest sounds ever known to man.”

Sansa moaned. _His hands_ , she thought, _where are his hands ?_ She was imprisonned against him – not that she wanted to be anywhere else – and yet wanted to get closer.

“Yes, those sounds.” he chuckled low against her skin. “Do you know how turned on those make me ? How much _you_ turn me on ?”

“Oberyn-” she whimpered.

“I promised myself I'd wait, both that night as you fell asleep and the following morning – but you just had to look at me, and I was helpless. I had to touch you again.”

His hands reappeared, this time covering her breasts. Sansa's breath hitched.

“No one has ever had that impact on me, little wife. And trust me, they tried.”

She frowned, jealousy seeping in her veins. “They better not try again.” she stated, finally finding her voice.

Oberyn chuckled. “Are you feeling posessive ?”

Breathless as the gentle kneeding of her chest continued, Sansa nodded.

“I want you, bad, little wife.” Oberyn bit her ear. “Tell me what _you_ want.”

 _That was easy_. She pulled away without giving him warning, pushing his hands away, and felt him pull with her for a split second before he realized what was happening. Turning around, she knelt in the bathtub, Oberyn's legs still around her. He arched a brow, amused, but Sansa saw his eyes darken just a little.

“That's quite the picture you're presenting, Sansa.”

His vocie was husky, and Sansa turned beet red. Feigning a courage she did not feel – what on earth _was_ she doing ? -, she moved closer, her knees coming apart to surround him, stomach to stomach. She heard his breath hitch, saw the desire move across his face.

“I want to touch you.” she felt herself say in a low, throaty voice that she did recognize.

She had not moved her hands, and they were now the only thing between his chest and hers.

“Sansa, -” he started, and she became acutely aware of a new, warm touch just under her navel. He had not moved his hands either, and her heart gave a pang inside her when she understood just what it was. She was making him hard, just her and her touch and her words, the realization making her feel prouder than she had ever been.

“Please.” she begged, and this time her fingers went all the way down to his stomach, slowly but purposefully.

She was stopped short by his hands, whimpering. “Tell me how you feel.” he demanded.

Thinking about it for a second, she frowned. “Breathless.” She kissed his neck, basking in his shiver. “Nervous.” She kissed his jaw, basking in his sigh. “Wet.” she whispered in his ear, brazen and full of a strange confidence.

“Don't move.” he ordered her.

She nodded eagerly.

His hands both moved, the right coming to rest on her hip, the second moving directly between her legs.

“I want to feel how wet you are.”

Stifling a moan and struggling to keep still, Sansa felt a finger slide against her pussy, rough but not invasive, rubbing a very sensitive spot.

Oberyn chuckled. “Hmm. All of that, for me ?”

“Yes.” she whimpered again.

“Lucky me.”

His finger kept rubbing leisurely, and Sansa kept wishing for him to pick up the pace – she even tried to roll her hips, but his grip tightened on her waist.

“Don't move, little wife.” he repeated, definitely enjoying himself.

“You're so mean.” she breathed, her voice hitching in her throat.

“Would you like me to stop ?” he teased, simultaneously starting to draw small circles on her clit with his thumb.

“No !”

Pleasure already started to gather in her veins, slowly building up with the added pressure. She was melting in his arms, moaning on his skin, struggling not to move.

“Tell me how you want to touch me.” he softly bit her neck.

“S-sorry ?” It was hard for her to think, hard for her to do anything, really, except lose her damn mind. _Faster_ , she wanted to beg, _faster, faster._

“Will you be rough with my cock once it's in your hands ?”

Stupidly blushing at the word, Sansa felt her entire body shiver. “No.”

“Then how ?”

The added pressure of his lips on her neck and his fingers deflty pleasuring her made it hard to breathe, hard to concentrate.

“Soft, soft, I'll be soft !” she exclaimed, her hips jerking – she was so close to orgasm that she fet it burn in her bones, felt it unravel her.

“What else ?”

He was in control, playing with her for his own amusement – how fingers had slowed again – and yet Sansa trusted him blindly, her body trembling against his, mellow and relaxed and yearning.

“I'll touch you any way you want, please. Please.” she pleaded.

“Please, what ?” he kissed her jaw.

“Faster, please.”

One by one, all her inhibitions melted; Oberyn had always been to the point before – sometimes slow, sometimes fast, but he had never toyed like this, never had he denied her pleas. She wanted him to give her the pleasure he had accustomed her to during their honeymoon, and she would do anything for it.

“Tell me what you want, Sansa.”

“I want – I want -” Breathless, she struggled against her going insane. “I want to come. Please.” she finally said, all embarassement out the window.

“Your wish -” Oberyn started, pulling away to watch her – his eyes were wickedly dark, and there was no amusement, only hunger -, fingers working to accommodate her needs.

Sansa moaned, head tilted backwards, her breasts almost painful, desperately accepting the pleasure that rolled through her. She came with a cry, her eyes open though she couldn't see anything, everything was a blur until she fell against Oberyn, shaking a little.

She was expecting his hands to move away, but he kept rubbing her clit, despite her feeling raw and seeing stars.

“Hang on to me, little wife.” he told her softly.

Her fingers moved in a flash, and she held his shoulders.

“Do you trust me ?”

 _His voice is so soft_ , she thought, still high with pleasure. “Yes.”

There was a small push, and suddenly he was knuckle deep inside of her, sliding in with no difficulty whatsoever. An ardent moan came out of her lips, and she was jerked back to earth in the loveliest fashion.

“Tell me to stop and I will.” Oberyn said, gentle despite his evident longing.

“Please, don't !” she exclaimed, far too quickly.

His finger pushed deeper, thumb still circling, and her fingers pressed hard on his skin.

“Gods.” she whimpered.

“I'm not going to move, Sansa.”

“Please.” she begged.

He chuckled. “Are you so impatient to come again, my little wife ?”

“Yes !”

His thumb was driving her mad, and having him in, finally in – she shuddered.

“I'm not going to move.” he repeated. “You'll have to take the pleasure you want.”

Not wanting to wait until he changed his mind, Sansa started rolling her hips back and forth, the gesture primitive and instinctive, miles away from everything she had ever known before. She started slow, unsure of herself, but spurred on by her own pleasure at the movement. She swayed, moving backwards and away from Oberyn, her hands tight around the edge of the bathtub, using her grip to stay stable, to stay sane, but she arched her back and picked up the pace, unconscious of anything but her husband's finger inside of her, and his thumb stroking her.

“Gods !” she moaned, hard.

“That's it, little wife, make yourself come.”

Oberyn's voice made her toes curl and unlocked something in her stomach, and she was coming before she knew it, her pussy clenching around him uncontrollably, her head thrown back. But there was something more, something that she was missing, and she collapsed happily forward until it hit her : she wanted Oberyn to feel the same. She wanted him to feel what she had just experienced. She grabbed his cock with her right hand as soon as she felt it able to move, and was instantly rewarded with a growl.

“Fuck !” he exclaimed.

She didn't know what she was doing, her body still recovering from her last wave of pleasure, and her fingers were sloppy; yet it didn't seem to matter one bit. Oberyn was gripping her waist, his finger still inside her but immobile, and he had closed his eyes. She moved up, down, always soft like she had promised, discovering as much of him as she could, just by the feel of it. It was silky smooth, with the tip wide and arching forward proudly – she would have looked had she been able to open her eyes, but for now, it was enough to hear her husband's cries of pleasure.

“Gods.” he muttered, and Sansa shuddered, already rearing to go again. How was it possible that she was deriving as much gratification as he did doing this ?

She kept going, sometimes with her palms, sometimes with just her fingers, until she felt something give and land on her stomach, warm and already sliding down, Oberyn's entire body jerking. She didn't want to stop, though, but she slowed down as she felt him soften in her hand, letting it go grudgingly, kissing her husband's neck, jaw, chin, nose. She wanted to apologize for being so new at this, for not knowing how to touch him, for being awkardly incompetent in all sexual things. She watched him come down from his own orgasm, enjoying the sight just as much as she had enjoyed the touch and the sounds, grinning as he opened his eyes. He immediately pulled her closer to hug and kiss her, sweetly and without urgency.

“Tell me you're okay.” Oberyn asked in a kind voice.

“I'm-” Sansa struggled to regain her grip on reality. “I'm brilliant.”

Opening her eyes, she watched Oberyn's chest vibrate with laughter. “I aim to please.”

“Trust me, you do. Please, I mean.”

Oberyn laughed harder.

“Thank you” she continued, “for saying all those wonderful things.”

“I meant every word, little wife.”

 

* * *

 

After receiving a call from his assistant – a call he would have royally ignored were it not for Sansa pushing him to take it -, Oberyn left the penthouse to head for the Martell Headquarters grumbling and groaning. He'd kissed his wife silly before leaving, right in the middle of the hall – another first for Sansa, who had never seen her parents kissing like this and whose ex-boyfriend would simply never have even thought of it – and left grinning as Sansa had to hold the wall for stability.

“Fiend.” she japed as the doors of the elevator closed, and heard him laugh in response.

Alone in the vast appartment for the first time, Sansa looked around to get a feel of her new home. It was packed with boxes – Oberyn had offered to have a staff move them in, but she had categorically refused, as she wanted to do it herself – and didn't look like much yet, but Sansa was confident that she could turn it into a warm, inviting home. She started in the kitchen, resolved to cook dinner for Oberyn when he'd come back, putting box after box away in the cabinets, noting on a piece of paper what was missing and would have to be bought. There was no food in the fridge when she opened it, however, so she decided to go grocery shopping – Oberyn had had a credit card made for her during their honeymoon, and it had arrived while they were away -, quickly calling Oberyn as she dressed.

“Sansa.” he answered. “Everything okay ?”

“Yeah, sorry to bother you, but I have a stupid question.” She had to shout a little, as she had put the phone down as she put on a dress.

“Tell me.”

“Do you have any allergies, or food you really like ?”

The grotesque of the situation made her smile : she was married to a man without knowing anything he liked, culinary speaking or otherwise. Her mother would be seething.

“Why ?” His answer was curt, miles away from the sweet husband would have bathed her earlier.

“There's no food in the fridge. I want to cook for you.”

There was a long silence on the other end of the line before Oberyn answered. “Take care of that tomorrow. I'm in my last meeting, and I'd really like to come home to my wife, not an empty apartment.”

Sansa, despite herself, felt hurt by his answer. “All right. Sorry to bother you.”

“Sansa-” Her husband started.

“Don't. It's fine.” she tried to sound sincere, and warm. “I'll see you in a bit.”

She hung up, hearing Oberyn sigh on the other end of the line. She made a mental note to not disturb him again during work. Honestly, what had she been thinking ? He wouldn't care what was in the fridge – he had other things to worry about. Shaking her hear at her own stupidity, Sansa went back downstairs to finish unpacking the kitchen. Half an hour later, when she heard the ding of the elevator indicating that Oberyn was home, she was completely over it.

“Sansa ?” she heard him call.

“In the kitchen.” she shouted, pushing the last of the pans in a drawer.

She turned as her husband came into view.

“Hi.” she smiled. “How was work ?”

Without answering, Oberyn took off his suit jacket, unbuttoned the cuffs on his wrists and pulled up his sleeves – Sansa watched, mesmerized – then walked towards her as a panther moving towards its prey. Her heart beat wildly in her chest, licked her lips as her throat dried. Grabbing her by the waist, he pulled her in a sizzling kiss that had her knees shaking.

“I'm sorry I was a jerk on the phone, little wife.”

“And I'm sorry I called you at work. It was stupid, and I shouldn't have.”

“Don't. I want you to call me anytime you want.”

“Not for this.”

“For anything.” Oberyn emphasized. “Any time.” He kissed her nose. “I was stuck in a meeting with a Lannister representative, and I was two minutes away from banging his head on my desk when you called.”

“So you take it out on me instead.” Sansa lifted an eyebrow, amused by his use of words.

“I'm sorry.” he apologized again.

“That's all right,” she said, a wicked idea bumping in her mind. “I have just the way for you to make it up to me.”

Oberyn tilted his head. “What did you have in mind ?”

Sansa licked her lips again. “Teach me.” she purred.

An eyebrow shot up on her husband's face, but she recognized the look in his eyes. He was intently listening. “Teach you what, little wife ?”

Sansa shot him a winning, devilish grin, her courage burning through any shyness she still felt. “Call me ambitious, but I plan to be able to make you come any time I want. I want you to teach me how.”

There was no mistaking the effect of her words on her husband : his whole face contorted with desire, his gaze dark and dangerous, and she felt his erection push against her lower stomach.

“And here I was, thinking I had married an innocent girl-” he started, a smirk on his lips. “and she turns out to be a little devil, horny for me.”

“I'm only seeking to please my husband as he pleases me.” Sansa answered, trying to sound sweet and virtuous when all she felt was an overwhelming need to get him naked.

“Does he please you that much ?”

“He's the only thing I can think about all day.” Sansa whispered.

“Lucky bastard.” Oberyn growled as Sansa smiled.

“If you don't do it, I'll just have somebody else teach me.” she shrugged, teasing him.

Oberyn almost growled his discontent. “Don't you dare.”

Determined to make him forget about the Lannister representative and her earlier mistake, Sansa turned on the charm – tomrrow she'd think about settling in, tomorrow she'd worry about getting a job and being useful to her husband. Tonight she just wanted him to be hers.

“Are you feeling possessive ?” she asked, emulating his earlier response, tilted her head backwards.

“I married you. You're mine.”

There was an intensity in his voice that touched her in all the right places. She kissed his nose, laughing. “So you'll teach me, then ?”

“I'll do anything you want, little wife – the Gods know I can't say no to you.” he grinned and kissed her again. “For tonight, though, I'm thinking wine and a movie. Your pick.”

“We have nothing in the fridge, husband.” she laughed.

He grunted.

Pulling away from him, Sansa walked to the living room to get her computer. “So what did the Lannister representative want ?”

She heard Oberyn sigh. “I snagged a contract from under their nose last week. They're pissed at me.”

“Good man.” In passing by him on her way back to the kitchen, she quickly nuzzled against his upper arm.

She looked for restaurants online that would deliver to their door – a luxury she trembled with delight at the idea of using – only shifting her position when Oberyn came up to her, his palms resting on her stomach, looking at the screen too. They browsed lazily, learning about each other's taste in food, in drink, sharing stupid anecdotes about going out, the atmosphere light and intimate.

“I want to to let it known that we're married.” Oberyn stated as they were waiting for the delivery, cuddling against each other on the sofa, in the middle of the boxes. “Tipping the press, let them run the story.”

“Before telling your family about it ?”

“There's just my brother, and he already knows.”

Sansa nodded her acknowledgement. “You're ready to hang up your bachelor ways ?” she teased.

“Little wife, I've been ready since the moment I saw you.”

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the hits, kudos, bookmarks and comments ! ♥

Sansa was awakened on Monday morning by the shrill noise of an alarm that contrasted sharply with the sweetness of her husband's skin against hers. She heard him groan against her neck and giggled, reaching to his besdide table to turn off the smartphone. He took advantage of her reaching towards him to hold on to her tight and hide his face in the crook of her neck, unwilling to see the light of day. Sansa lazily slid her fingers in his hair, reveling in the warmth she had so hated the first time they had slept in the same bed. She knew she should push him out of the bed, but the truth was she'd much rather have him stay with her all day.

They ignored the alarm for a while, hiding out from the outside world, until Sansa's voice of reason won and she started to pull away from Oberyn.

“Don't.” he protested, sharply.

She giggled again. “You're going to be late.”

“I don't care.” His hold was steel, and she couldn't brek through, no matter how much she tried. “I want to stay in bed with my wife, maybe take advantage of her once or twice. Or three times.”

Sansa sighed, a tickling heat spreading down to her toes. “What time do you have to leave ?”

“Quarter to eight.” he groaned.

Reaching for his smartphone once more, Sansa checked the time.

“Tell you what, if you have breakfast in the car, I can give you fifteen minutes.”

Rolling Sansa to her back and settling on top of her wihout breaking the embrace, Oberyn smiled. “Fifteen minutes is all I need.”

And just with that, Sansa was done for.

 

* * *

 

Still recovering from her shattering orgasm, Sansa was in the kitchen preparing coffee to go for Oberyn, waiting for him to come out of the shower.

He appeared composed and smiling, dashing in a deep blue suit that had Sansa stare at him stupidly. He smirked as he noticed her interest, fully conscious of his effect on her, cocky with pride.

“Don't look at me like that, little wife.” he warned.

“Then don't be so damn good looking, big husband.” she teased, winking at him.

“So what's on the agenda for today ?” he inquired, kissing her shoulder, grabbing the cup as she held it out for him.

“Continue unpacking, grocery shopping, maybe find what I'm going to do with the rest of my life. You know, the usual.”

He laughed. “Call if you need me.”

Nodding, she let him kiss her forehead, then watched him leave. “So, no allergies, then ?”

“None.” he called back from the hall. “Have fun today.”

She wasn't sure about fun, she thought, but she would have a productive day. An idea came to her as she listened to her husband falling asleep last night, and she was determined to see it carried out today – wanting to have sex with her husband was one thing, but it would not do to do it unprepared and unprotected, and she was going to go out today on a quest to find herself a doctor that would prescribe her contraception. She would also swing by King's Landing College, maybe talk to a guidance councillor if one had the time, get some clues as to what might be right for her, at least professionally speaking. Of course, she'd go grocery shopping, too – even though she might not be a great chef and never really had the time to learn how until now, Sansa had always enjoyed food, and admired anyone who could cook well. She wanted to learn, maybe eliminate the need to have another employee at home with them. Oberyn's maid and his bodyguards had agreed to transition to the penthouse and work for his wife as well, but his cook had chosen to retire, go back to Dorne to dote on her grandkids. Having a staff was nothing new for Sansa, as she had been used to it growing up as a wealthy child; but she had lived differently for a long time now, and simply couldn't understand how she had once thought it normal to have somebody tidy up behind her at all times. But Oberyn insisted, and she relented. _First the pill_ , she said to herself as she showered and dressed, then the job – the rest would wait.

As she registered at the Doctor's office, she saw the nurse at the front desk do a double take on her name – Sansa Martell, her ID said, now – and on her person, before talking in a clear voice :

“Please wait here, I will be right back.”

Sansa frowned, shifting on her feet as she waited, wondering if the nurse thought she'd falsified her ID; after all, it was plausible – Doran Martell was already married, and everyone knew his wife wasn't a pale, redheaded girl, while Oberyn had more than once clamoured he would simply never get married. She swallowed uneasily, pondering her options. She could always leave, get in the car waiting for her outside – there were other doctors she could go to. But the nurse came back with a smile just as Sansa had made up her mind to leave.

“Follow me,Mrs Martell, Dr. Colemon is ready for you.”

Frowning deeper, Sansa walked behind the woman, trying to figure out what had been said behind closed doors for her to be admitted immediately. The nurse, still smiling, stopped and invited Sansa to come in the doctor's office.

“Mrs Martell, I presume ?”

On the other side of the large wooden desk planted in the middle of the room was a woman in her late thirties with large glasses and an easy smile, extending her hand to Sansa. The door was closed behind them, and the Northerner suddenly felt trapped in a fox's den.

“Please, sit.” the Doctor added after that had shaken hands. “What can I do for you today ?”

“Well, I was going to make an appointment, but -”

Doctor Colemon laughed. “Sorry, it's my father's policy. If a -” she seemed to hesitate on the words, “- person of interest, shall we say, comes in the door, one of us has to see them immediately. Today, one of us is me.”

She smiled politely, but Sansa could tell she did not agree with this particular policy.

“And I am a person of interest, why ?” Sansa wondered out loud.

“Your husband is very rich.” Colemon spoke plainly, and to the point, which made Sansa smile.

“I like you, doctor.”

The two women shared a laugh.

“So, what brings you here, mrs. Martell ?”

Sitting straighter, Sansa spoke softly. “I need a prescription. For the pill.”

“Contraception ?” Doctor Colemon's brows shot up.

“Yes.”

“All right. What kind would you need ?”

Sansa felt a rush of panic spread through her veins. “I'm sorry ?”

“Would you like a patch, pills, injections, an implant, or maybe something a little more invasive ?”

“Oh.” For the life of her, Sansa would never have guessed that there were so many contraceptives; her mother had barely spoken to her about the pill, but had rather came back from the doctor's with a pill bottle and had told her how to take them. “Um-”

Sighing, the doctor left her chair, rounding the desk to come sit next to Sansa. “I'm guessing no one has told you about any of them.”

Giggling nervously, Sansa looked down for a second. “Doctor, no one has told me about anything.”

There was a minute of silence where Doctor Colemon stared at Sansa, her jaw clenched. Looking absolutely frustrated, she got up again, opening a drawer on her desk, pushing a leaflet in front of Sansa.

“This regroups every type of contraceptive that exists and compares them. Read it through with your husband, and come back when you have made your choice.”

Sansa nodded, but didn't move.

“May I ask you a personal question ?”

“Of course.” Doctor Colemon had piercing grey eyes, and they seemed quite angry as they focused on her.

“You seem very frustrated. Why ?”

Sighing again, the doctor knotted her fingers together, her knuckles almost white. “I divide my time between this practice - my father's practice, and a free clinic in Flea Bottom.”

Frowning, Sansa felt her pulse quicken. _Had she seen Sansa there ? Was it why she was so mad ?_

“When I'm there, I see victims of rape, of aggression; I see fourteen, fifteen, sixteen year-olds who are pregnant and have no idea what's happening to them, or why they are like this. I perform abortions for women who have no money to pay means of contraception, or women who want no kids and yet have sex, not thinking of possible consequences.”

After a pause, Doctor Colemon spoke again.

“And then I come here. I cater to a richer population. Not all rich like you, mrs Martell, but well off nonetheless. And I think, this is going to be better, this is going to be easier.” She sighed. “And for the most part it is. But, every so often, often enough to make it important, I have women coming to me, either daughters of or wives of, and they know nothing of sex, of STDs, of contraception. They have no education and are being left in the dark, sometimes for their whole lives. It baffles me that no one has thought to teach them, answer their questions.”

Ashamed, Sansa looked down.

“The blame is not on you, Mrs Martell – that's not what I'm saying. I-” She sighed again. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have told you those things. That wasn't professional of me. Please take the leaflet and think very carefully about it.”

Nodding, Sansa took the paper in front of her and got up, walked a few steps towards the door. Something stopped her as her hand touched the doorknob, though, a visceral need to not have the doctor think she was an idiot.

“When I was thirteen and got my period for the first time, I thought I was dying.” she breathed, showing the doctor her profile, shame still seeping through her. “I ran to my governess, in tears, and she laughed at me. I'm sure she didn't mean to be cruel, but it stung all the same. When my mother came in, the only thing she told me was that I was going to be bleeding, once a month, every month until I'd finally be pregnant. Said to me that this was how my body told me it was ready for motherhood.”

She heard a gasp coming from the desk.

“When I gathered up the courage to ask her how I would ever become pregnant, she told me my husband would know how, that I should leave it up to him. I was young enough and naïve enough to take her word as gospel.”

Sansa turned fully towards the doctor, who looked shocked and indignant.

“What I mean to say, doctor, is that I'm sorry you see so many of us who have no clue what goes on in our bodies. But don't blame us. We were never taught how.”

With a last nod to Doctor Colemon, Sansa left the room.

 

* * *

 

She spent the rest of her day in a daze, shame and regret twirling into her stomach, and felt unable to focus on anything but the doctor's words. She left the guidance councillor's office with a huge pile of papers, quizzes on how to find her perfect job and leaflets on college classes, but she couldn't really remember what had been said in details. She went grocery shopping thinking of something else, and only realized when she came home that she had forgotten many essentials, and had bought things she wasn't certain she'd ever use. The driver Oberyn had insisted she use had looked at her weirdly when she told him they had to go back, but had said nothing.

Oberyn came home at around eight o'clock, looking somewhat tired, but grinned from ear to ear as he found Sansa bent over some pans.

“Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes.”

Sansa, who hadn't heard him come in, looked up, surprised. “Hi.” she smiled, taking in every detail of him. “Rough day ?”

“Long.” Stepping towards her, he held her in his arms for a while.

Forgetting everything that had happened during the day, Sansa nuzzled against him, a sigh of contentment escaping her lips.

“Now, that's what a man wants to hear when he comes home.” Oberyn joked.

Giggling, Sansa pushed him away gently, kissing his chin. “I made pasta.”

“Yum.” he smiled. “I'll set up the table, then.”

The food was good, though Sansa tasted a few things she could improve on, but her husband had no objections. They were sitting side by side, his palm on her thigh, turned to her as they talked.

“How was your day ?” he inquired as they attacked desert.

“Weird.” she nodded. “I'm pretty sure my doctor was mad at me. She certainly seemed mad.”

Oberyn frowned. “What were you at the doctor's for, are you all right ?”

“Yes, I'm fine. I just needed a prescription for contraceptives.”

Without even looking at her husband, Sansa could tell he was tense just by the way he had squeezed her thigh.

“Sansa-” he began.

“I know, you think I'm not ready yet.” she interrupted. “And maybe I'm not, I don't know. But it doesn't hurt to be prepared for when I _am_ ready, does it ?”

Oberyn sighed. “I suppose.”

Something just occurred to Sansa, who wanted to kick herself for not thinking of it sooner. “Unless you'd rather I don't take anything, of course.”

Her husband lifted an eyebrow. “What do you mean ?”

“Well, we're married.” Sansa put down her fork, turning completely towards him. “We could have unprotected sex, you know, if you want children.”

There was a long silence during which Sansa fought hard not to take anything back. They needed to have this conversation, she saw that clearly; after all, they had never said anything about an end date to their marriage. Maybe Oberyn was planning on only ever marrying her, and would want to have children with her.

“Do you want children, Sansa ?” he asked her in a soft voice.

“I suppose. I've never really thought about it, I've always just assumed I'd have them.”

“Do you want them with me ?”

“Well,” Sansa thought quickly, “you're rich, you have a steady source of income, you have a comfortable home, a family you love and who love you. You have values, morals. Plus, you're the kindest person I have ever met. Any child we may have would be fed, properly clothed, have an education, a good education. Any child you have would be lucky.”

Oberyn emitted a low chuckle. “You're very practical, little wife.”

“Ours is a marriage of convenience, yes ?”

“Yes.” her husband answered after a slight hesitation.

“Then wouldn't it be convenient to have children with me ?”

“I don't want children for the moment, Sansa.”

“Oh.” Sansa nodded. “Okay.”

“The only reason why I would consider having them right now is if you told me you wanted them. Which you haven't. Yet.”

Scanning her brain quickly, Sansa discovered that she was very happy with Oberyn's decision. “I don't want them right now either. I just-” she looked her husband in the eye, hoping he wasn't thinking she wanted to bait and hook him for life. “- we need to agree on this, that's all.”

“Then no children for the time being. Yes ?”

“Yes.” she agreed, nodding.

“That doctor of yours, did she give you options ?”

“She did.”

Sansa explained the content of the leaflet she'd received earlier to her husband in details, showing it to him as they talked well into the evening, unanimously deciding to go with an implant that would work itself into Sansa's hormonal system for a year, leaving them protected better than with the regular pill. Sansa was glad that she could have someone to talk to about this, voice her concerns and her questions, even if that someone was a man who knew little but what he had learnt from his girlfriends over the years. Oberyn didn't laugh at her, he didn't make her feel stupid, but rather made her feel safe and loved and heard – a feeling she had forgotten during all her years alone.

 

* * *

 

Sansa had called doctor Colemon's office the next day, and they had set a date for Sansa to have the outpatient procedure, a week from now. Oberyn had insisted that he would go with her, refusing to think about her going through this alone when it concerned the both of them, and she'd been glad. To be honest, Sansa had felt a little scared at the prospect of going on her own.

She mainly spent her time that week decorating and tidying the penthouse, the maid fussing after her before she could get a chance to clean up, reminding Sansa in a polite but firm voice that it was her job. Not wishing to fight, Sansa had opted to converse with her, get to know her a little as they went from room to room, talking about her childhood in Dorne versus Sansa's childhood in the North.

She and Oberyn took her job quiz one night, Oberyn asking the questions while she was trying to answer as truthfully as she could, though a lot of the questions stifled her. She could answer questions about her past, but questions about what she liked to do or what she had dreamed about one day doing simply left her stumped. Never before had anyone asked her about a dream job, as the truth was that she had been bred to become a housewife. She had never thought about jobs, about options – her mother had taught her to be a good wife, and that was all she would ever aspire to be.

Oberyn sensed her growing frustration, seeking to appease her with a touch or a kiss. But both left her even more frustrated, as he had – very gently – refused any sexual advance from her since the night they had agreed on birth control, and he had not touched her other than a chaste kiss, a hug to say goodbye in the morning and hello in the evenings, and a sleepy embrace as she closed her eyes.

Sansa wondered what had changed; surely he had thought about having children – or not - during this marriage, right ? Or maybe he hadn't, and Sansa bringing it up had been in poor taste, something she hadn't been supposed to say out loud but rather guessed as they went along. Should she have let him decide about contraceptive ? Did she deprive him of choice when she said she'd taken care of it herself ? Those questions stumped her, too, and Sansa felt like she was swimming in unknown waters again.

To distract them both, they had focused on Oberyn's work, Sansa doing her best to keep up with him and his ideas as they talked about reports, quarters, acquisitions – she would not have it said that she did not try her best, and she more than once found herself studying during the day as she had once studied to make sure to win a special project. The result was that she was impatient to discuss it with him as he came home, regardless of wether or not she was supposed to, and they had more than once both looked up at the clock in his home office to find that it displayed early morning hours. This, too, worried her; as surely Oberyn did not want a colleague in his home, but a wife. But no matter what she tried, sex was not on his agenda – although he was still as affectionate as he ever was.

Was this what he had wanted ? Was this why he had chose her ? Because he had known about Joffrey, because he had known what he had done, and had thought that she surely would not want to have sex ever again ? The only person with the answers was Oberyn, but she was too scared to ask.

 

* * *

 

When Monday came and the appointment grew near, Sansa felt panic settle in her bones. She wondered whether or not Oberyn would remember the time, as she had not reminded him when he had left this morning.

Incomprehension had turn to hurt, and she knew things needed to be put in the open, said out loud so that they could both move on from this or else they would end up hurting each other. She'll do it tonight, she promised herself, _I'll tell him tonight_. For now she needed to get ready and get out the door.

The drive was shorter than she'd remembered it from the last time, and the office was filled with pregnant women and girls barely out of their teens looking like something was bound to come out of a door and bite them. Sansa looked at them all and wondered which of these they thought _she_ was. Pregnant, or scared ? Doctor Colemon was early, and she greeted her with a smile, gesturing her into her office. Sansa looked at the doors, waited for her husband to show up, then followed the doctor through the corridor.

“Mrs Martell, nice to see you again.”

“You too, doctor. Although I'd be lying if I said I wasn't also terrified.” Sansa joked, trying to make light of a situation that truly put her ill at ease.

At the doctor's order, she sat down. Doctor Colemon stared at her for a good while before speaking up again.

“Are you all right, Mrs. Martell ?” She was frowning.

Before Sansa could answer, though, there was a small knock on the door, and the nurse at the front desk peeked her head through.

“Mr. Martell is here, and I'm pretty sure he'll break down the door if we don't allow him in.”

There was amusement in the nurse's voice, but at the simple mention of Oberyn, Sansa found herself relaxing. Thank the Gods he had not forgotten.

Doctor Colemon gazed at Sansa before nodding, and Oberyn appeared through the door a few moments later, making a direct beeline to where Sansa was sitting. He envelloped her with his eyes, making sure she was okay with a simple glance, then kissed the top of her head. She grabbed his jacket and pulled him close, noticing how tense he had been until that very moment.

“You're okay, little wife ?” he breathed in her hair.

“I am now.” she smiled.

They both turned at the doctor's slight cough, Sansa blushing.

“Sorry, doctor.” Moving away from Sansa, Oberyn extended his hand. “I'm Oberyn, Sansa's husband.”

Sansa's heart gave a little jolt as he spoke, and Doctor Colemon's gaze fell on her before she shook his hand.

“Doctor Colemon.” she stated in a weird, automatical voice.

She moved away from the both of them after that, fetching something in a drawer.

“Before we proceed, I have a few questions for the both of you.”

Sansa nodded, still holding on to Oberyn.

“First, have you read the leaflet through and through ?”

“Yes.” Sansa stated in as confident a voice as she could muster.

“Are you aware of the possible side effects ?”

“Yes.”

“Do you both agree on this means of contraception ?” she was peering at Oberyn in particular, and Sansa felt like she should wait for him to answer.

“We do.” he said as he detached Sansa's hands from his jacket and took one of them in both of his.

“Are you certain this is the contraceptive you want ?” This time, the doctor was looking at her.

“Yes, I am.” Sansa answered earnestly.

After a last glance at the two of them, the doctor put on latex gloves and produced a needle. “Very well. I'll begin by anaesthetise your arm, then we will wait a few minutes before I put the implant in.”

Sansa nodded, her throat drying suddenly. She felt the sting of the needle and winced, but didn't have the courage to look. Instead, she turned to Oberyn and found that he was staring at her, and something in his eyes did not seem quite right. He was afraid, she realized, maybe as afraid as she was. She smiled at him as confidently as she could, and felt a new surge of affection rush through her. Yes, they would definetely need to talk, she thought, as she didn't want that affection to go to waste.

“Okay.” the doctor said behind her. “Let's wait a minute or two, now.”

Oberyn took the opportunity to kiss Sansa's forehead, his two hands still over her free one, and Sansa leaned towards him, closing her eyes. She could hear his heartbeat from where she had lain her head, steady and strong, lulling her slowly until she was completely relaxed. She inhaled his scent, as familiar to her now as her own, thinking to herself that if he ever decided that their marriage wasn't working out, it would hurt much more than Joffrey leaving her behind.

“All done.” the doctor stated, moving away from her.

Sansa blinked, looking around her to find the procedure done and the tube implanted. She had felt nothing, wrapped in her head, but the tension she saw on Oberyn's shoulders told her _he_ had not been so lucky.

“How do you feel, Mrs Martell ?” Doctor Colemon asked.

“I'm all right.” she answered, smiling for both their sakes.

“Good.” the doctor nodded. “Your period should not be affected at the moment, although you may find yourself bleeding less, and eventually, not at all. You may also bleed more. However, tat is in the long run. If you see any changes immediately, in your period or on your breasts or arm, please call or come right away.”

“Yes, doctor.” Sansa dutifully responded.

“Until then,” the doctor continued, “please feel free to call if you have any questions. The bill will be sent to your house when it is ready.”

“Thank you.” Oberyn nodded towards the woman, then helped Sansa off and on her feet. Her arm was still numb, and she had to carry it with her other hand.

 

* * *

 

In the car, Oberyn surprised her by holding her close and tight as though she was minutes from running away, and he was desperately trying to get her to stay. There was something different in him, a fear, a tension she didn't understand, and she patiently stroked his back to reassure him that she was here, in his arms, that she still cared.

“Are you really all right ?” he inquired as he pushed back to peer at her.

“I'm fine.” Sansa smiled. “Are you ?”

He sighed, putting her seatbelt on for her, kissing the top of her head. “No, little wife. I'm not.”

Sansa frowned, carefully letting go of her left arm to put a palm on his thigh. “What's wrong ?”

The look they exchanged was sweet but concerned on her end, and unsure and fearful on his. That, too, they would have to talk about; but Oberyn did not seem to be able to do that at the moment as he stayed silent, wrapping her fingers around his.

“Let's go home.” he finally said.

“Yes. Let's.” she agreed, unable to look away. _The unpleasantness could wait_ , she thought, _for now all she wanted was to hold his hand._

 


	6. Chapter 6

When Sansa woke up, she was alone in her bedroom, a quilt over her to keep her from getting cold. She'd dozed off in the car, and Oberyn must have carried her to bed when they had arrived – Sansa couldn't remember, but _someone_ had put her to bed.

She yawned, checking the time, then set out to find her husband. She covered herself with the quilt and wandered from room to room until she finally found him in his home office, two fingers rubbing the bridge of his nose, looking both tired and exasperated. There was somebody on the phone with him, and he clearly didn't like what was happening – Sansa could feel his restraint, his growing lack of patience. She settled against the doorframe, trying not to make a sound, but Oberyn looked up all the same, his eyes scanning through her, head to toe.

“Let me call you back.” he almost barked before hanging up. Then, looking up at her again, “You should be resting.”

Stifling a sigh, Sansa stared at her husband. “I should say the same about you.” she joked.

Oberyn chuckled, a low sound that resonated through Sansa's core and made her shiver. Getting up, he made his way to her quickly.

“Am I allowed inside your quilt ?” he smiled, pointing to the blanket she was still wearing around her shoulders.

As she nodded and opened her arms, Oberyn effortlessly pick her up and hoisted her up, her legs on his hips. She closed the covers around his neck as their lips met for the first time in what had felt an eternity to Sansa. Oberyn's breath smelled like lemon and his lips were softer than she'd remembered them. Cupping her butt, the feel of his hands pushed any residual sleepiness she might have felt – she suddenly felt more awake than she had in a while, in fact. She clung to him tighter, opening her lips, moaning in disagreement when she felt Oberyn move away slightly.

“Sansa-” he started.

“Don't.” She pushed back on his lips, refusing to break their embrace, refusing to move away. She wanted her husband, she missed her husband, and she wasn't about to let him pull away from her again. She kissed him, her grip firm on his shoulders, licked his lips and kissed him until she felt something give, and a second after, her back was against the wall and the impact knocked the wind off her. She gasped, Oberyn taking advantage of her surprise to push his tongue in her mouth. There was violence in his kiss, violence in his embrace, but Sansa didn't care – she felt like her whole body was on fire, every nerve, every muscle ached and screamed for more. She knotted her calves around his waist and arched her body against his, both palms on his nape. There was licking, there was biting; Sansa couldn't tell what originated from whom, and she didn't care : her husband was there, right against her, finally touching her. He didn't try to move away any more, but rather pulled at her hair and pushed at her lips, his hands moving up under her blouse. Sansa moaned soflty, feeling Oberyn mellow under her, pride blooming in her belly. She had missed it, missed feeling Oberyn's fingers on her skin – she closed her eyes, Oberyn's kiss moving down her jaw and her neck.

She breathed his name, feeling him harden between her legs, sending jolts of electricity up her spine. Her hips moved of their own accord, the movement barely conscious – her husband suddenly pulling away, Sansa almost falling down.

“That's enough.” he rasped, but Sansa's hands refused to budge.

She waited a minute for them both to take her breath, gather up their thoughts, before she asked in a low voice :

“Will you tell me what's going on ?”

“Sansa -”

“We can't go on like this.” she pushed. “I miss my husband.”

It was his turn to sigh, but his hold on her tightened for a second before she could feel his grip loosen, and her feet were back on the ground. He muttered something under his breath, then looked at her.

“I'm gonna need a drink first, if you don't mind.”

Sansa gazed at him before she nodded. “I'll go open a bottle of wine.”

“I'll join you in a minute, okay ?”

“Okay.”

Putting a last kiss on his chin, Sansa held the quilt around her and walked down to the kitchen. Her heart was racing for a whole another reason, and she felt frightened; but there wasn't any way around this, they needed to talk.

She opened the bottle of white wine chilling in the fridge, pouring two glasses and setting them down on the sitting room's coffee table, then waited for Oberyn to come down the stairs, nuzzling in the warm quilt. She had regained full sensation in her arm, and she felt a dull throb of pain where the device had been implanted; the ache was bearable, nothing compared to pains she'd felt before. She dismissed it, sent it to the back of her mind and prepared herself for the upcoming conversation. She didn't want to nag Oberyn, nor did she want to make him feel as though she was discontent; she simply wanted what he had promised her : total honesty.

“Are you all right ?” he asked from the stairs, finding her in the middle of her thoughts.

“Yes. Stop worrying.” she smiled.

Oberyn sighed, taking a seat next to her, reaching in her quilt tent to grab both her legs until she was only inches away from him. He kissed her nose, lemon chased away by alcohol.

“I'm sorry I was a lousy husband this week.” he breathed.

Sansa cupped his cheek with her hand. “Tell me what's wrong, so that I can fix it.”

He took a deep breath, closing his eyes and pulled her in for a hug. Forgetting the quilt, Sansa locked her arms around his neck, hiding her face there, too. She wanted to send him positive thoughts, make him understand she was there for him, that she would be there for him as long as he would want her to.

“You scare the crap out of me.” he finally admitted.

Sansa frowned, waiting for an explanation.

“I've never-” he started, shaking his head. When he spoke again, his voice was firmer. “All my life, I've been aggressive, even young, even towards girls. Sometimes violent, or rough. It's always been part of me, and I've never much cared who I hurt as long as I got what I wanted. But you – you don't deserve rough.”

 _I don't want rough_ , Sansa wanted to say, the beginning of nausea blooming inside of her stomach. _Joffrey had been rough, and I can't go through that again_. Tears pricked her eyes.

“And I don't want to be rough with you. To be honest, when we got married, I never thought you'd be interested in me. I hadn't thought you'd ever want to have sex with me, not when you went through what you've been through.”

Sansa blushed red with shame as Oberyn continued.

“But you did – you do. You want to, I can feel it everytime I touch you, I can feel your desire waking and moving through you. I can feel it because I feel the same way. I want to touch you, and I want to kiss you, and I want to get you naked and have my way with you. Gods know you'd let me, happily.”

Oberyn pushed her back so that he could look at her, Sansa trying not to squirm under his gaze. She couldn't understand it either, this desire, this total trust in what was virtually a total stranger. Yes, they were married; but prior to this marriage, they had known each other only a few days – and that was far from enough for her to know him. And yet here she was, in his arms, absolutely content and willing to trust him fully. The old Sansa, the naïve Sansa, had crept back up without her realizing it. _Shame on the new Sansa, the cautious Sansa, for not seeing it before_ , she thought.

“You trust me to do this with you, even with everything that has happened to you, even after Joffrey, you want me to teach you, and you want me to please you. You're willing to give me everything.” Oberyn continued. “And that scares me more than you'll ever know.”

Sansa frowned.

“I take it you don't feel the same.” Oberyn chuckled humorlessly.

“I-” she bit her lip. “Honestly, I hadn't thought about it like that. All I know is-” she took a deep breath. “-you saved me.”

Oberyn's brows shot up in surprise.

“I mean, I was days away from not being able to afford rent. To default on my loan payments. Again.” She could feel tears coming, and she steeled herself before they could appear in her eyes. “I had given up on so many things, thinking I could never...” Sansa shook her head again. “You saved me. Given me a home, not just a roof over my head, but a home. You took everything I was afraid of back then and made it go away.”

“And so you want to repay me ?” Oberyn frowned. “Is that it ?”

“Well, yes. But not with sex.” Sansa shrugged. “I just want to be useful to you.”

Sighing, Oberyn slid his hands in his hair. “You are. You're- You're perfect.”

Sansa snorted. “Right.”

“It's quite rude to snort at your husband, you know.” Oberyn lifted an eyebrow. “It's even ruder not to believe him.”

“When he stops saying snort-worthy things, I'll be polite.” Sansa snorted again, teasing him.

There was silence for a second as the two of them looked at each other, Sansa smiling and Oberyn staring, before Sansa broke it, shrieking as she found herself suddenly on her back, her husband looming above her, smirking.

“You're not a very nice woman.”

Fighting against her own breathlessness, Sansa stated : “No, I'm not. You want nice, you should've married me eight years ago.”

“Eight years ago, you were a child.” Oberyn protested.

“Yes, but I was nice.” she joked.

“Hm.” His smoldering look seemed to leave marks on her body as he gaze at her up and down.

Unvoluntarily, Sansa squirmed under it. She felt a familiar warmth creep up her legs and stomach, and she found herself wishing for her husband's touch – but even now, with him laying on top of her, it was denied to her. She remembered his words. _I scare him. What I want scares him._ And yet they were inches from each other, and she desperately wanted more.

“It's okay to be scared.” she whispered to him, softly grabbing his shirt with both her hands to make sure he wouldn't try to pull away. “I'm scared, too. I'm scared all the time.”

“I don't want you to be scared.” Oberyn frowned. “Tell me what scares you and I'll deal with it.”

“That's funny, that's exactly how I feel about _your_ fears.” Smiling, Sansa reached out to kiss Oberyn's chin. “I want to protect you just as much as you want to protect me. So let's just try.”

Sighing, Oberyn closed his eyes. “Sansa-”

“Don't. Let's just stop talking, and kiss me.”

She tugged at his shirt until his eyes opened. She could see the doubt, she could see a hint of desire already blooming, stifled quickly as he shook his head. “Maybe later. I have to go back to work.”

He kissed her forehead and started to straighten away, frowning as Sansa refused to let him go, her hold on his shirt tightening.

“I'm not going anywhere, Oberyn. You married me, I'm staying. For better or for worse.”

“For better or for worse.” he repeated, seetly planting another kiss on her forehead.

Sansa relaxed her hands, letting him go, and was hit by a strange wave of sadness when his weight was lifted off of her. She sat up, watching him leave the room, softly calling after him as he turned the corner. He turned away, a melancholic look in his eye quickly replaced by polite attention.

“I'm scared you made a mistake. I'm scared you're thinking about leaving me, that I'm not good enough for you.” she stated in a small voice.

“Sansa-”

He took a step towards her and she hugged her knees.

“I'm not saying that to make you feel guilty, or to play the victim card. I understand that you are afraid, I acknowledge it. But this – this is something that I'm afraid of. And if we don't want those fears to eat us up, we need to find middle ground. Soon.”

Sighing inaudibly, Oberyn rubbed the bridge of his nose, frustrated. That frustration irritated her – she was only trying to help, after all.

“How about you order dinner ? We'll eat it out of the box, snuggle on the sofa, maybe watch a movie.”

 _So he did hear her._ “Sure. Dinner and a movie. It's a date.” she said, smiling in encouragement.

Looking down, Oberyn chuckled. “Lucky you.”

Unlike hers, his tone was dripping in sarcasm, and Sansa felt eerily empty as she watched him walk away. _Of course she was lucky_ , she thought. _Did he doubt that_ ? She sighed, shielding herself with the quilt she had left fall down, moving back upstairs to find her phone.

She browsed restaurants for a while, lying on her bed, distracted by what Oberyn had said. Had she not been there to see him speak, she would never have believed it – Oberyn Martell, afraid of _her_ ? That was preposterous. This was a man who oozed confidence, who weathered storms and emerged unscathed. With a look, he could reduce anyone to a babbling mess, kings and mobs alike. And who was she ? No one. She didn't matter, so she couldn't understand how he could ever be afraid of such a person. Of course, she understood that he didn't want to hurt her – it was one of the things that so desperately made her want to bed him – and she adored him for it; but this was another level. She would need to reassure him, but how ? She had sensed a fragility in him back in Dorne, she had known there was something more to it. It had just never occurred to her that she might be the problem.

She looked up sharply when she felt Oberyn's presence, just in time to see him come in the door, and watched as he came to her, squatting beside the bed.

“I'm sorry I'm being an asshole.” he said, softly.

Sansa smiled, rolling on her stomach to get closer to him. “You're not. You're being cautious.”

“I'm ignoring my wife is what I'm doing.”

Propping herself up on her elbows, Sansa lifted an eyebrow, bringing her thumb and index finger close together. “A little bit.”

Smiling too, Oberyn closed his eyes, resting his forehead against Sansa's side.

“I really do have to work, but I can't stop thinking about you. About us.”

“Do you need some help ?” Sansa offered.

“With what ? With work or with us ?”

“Either.” she laughed. “Both.”

After a small moment of silence, Oberyn looked back up at his wife. “I don't want to make you unhappy, Sansa. I just want to do us right.”

“I know.”

“I'm not sure that I can, though.”

Sansa stared at Oberyn, wishing for the right words to comfort him. “How about we meet halfway, then ? No sex, no pressure, but we still talk, and we still kiss, and we still sleep in the same bed.”

Oberyn laughed. “I feel like I'm a teenager again.”

His wife grinned. “Good. Now do you need a hand with work ?”

 

* * *

 

After the news of their wedding broke out after the parution of an article in a widely read newspaper, Sansa found herself with little to no time for herself. Socialites and wives of invaded her home, faces plastered with fake smiles. Her etiquette training came back easily enough, but the dilligent words that had once came to her naturally now struggled to come out. She found them all naïve, close-minded and arrogant – she couldn't believe that, at one point in her life, it was all she had wanted to be one of them. Sansa found great comfort in Arielle, their maid, who, as she discovered, could whip up an perfect afternoon tea in mere minutes and could transform herself into a high end waitress in less. _She'd need to discuss a raise for her with Oberyn_ , Sansa thought, distracted despite the women in her living room.

When they thought that the mistress of the house couldn't see them, they disappeared in other rooms and judged her furniture, the arrangement of said furniture in the room, and doled out advice they had no business giving. They butted in to her relationship with Oberyn, asking over and over if she was pregnant, that she couldn't be far along as she was as slender as a flower, that she had been right to stop working. They marvelled at her having ever worked, although Sansa could feel the underlying comtempt, as though there was any less to her because of it. She kept herself from scoffing, she kept herself from being impolite, and she smiled sweetly through all of it. A few hidden jabs came out along the way, but all in all, Sansa was very proud of her performance.

She was invited out to tea, invited out for drinks where they openly ordered virgin versions of cocktails for her - “For the baby.”-, invited to salon gatherings; and because she was now a Martell, Sansa felt like she ought to attend them all. The women were not all bad, some were quick witted and free spirited, but all in all, Sansa almost always came back home bored out of her mind. She felt like she was being paraded out by the woman who had invited her, who kept her close, introduced her to everyone there, spewing awful comments about weight, intelligence, rumoured infidelities shown off as fact, and sterility with a mild mannored tone as though she was talking about the weather. And it wasn't just one woman; it was all of them – Sansa took a hard, long look at them and wondered if this was how she would have ended up, had her family remained faithful to the King's and had she married Joffrey. Married to a man who took you as his plaything, it was easy to see how one could become bitter, or broken; and she certainly wouldn't have been an execption. And, if she looked hard enough, Sansa was sure she could find many of these women were in the same position as she had once been.

She came home from these gatherings emotionally drained, angry and sad at the same time, and, almost every time, Arielle would find her sitting in a chair, still with her purse and shoes, with a faraway look on her face.

Oberyn instinctively knew where she had been that day when she held onto him as though she was holding on for dear life, and he would make her laugh until she had forgotten all about them. It was one of the things that was making her fall irrevocably in love with him; that, and his never ending kindness and tenderness. They never bickered, although they weren't always in agreement; and Oberyn, free of his secret fear, was now more open towards her, and insisted on them going out at least once a week.

Like teenagers, they held hands during dates, talked about anything and everything until late in the night, sent each other stupid texts – Oberyn's favourite was one Sansa had sent him as he had left for work one morning : “you have a cute butt”, followed by a winky emoticon. He even threatened to have it printed and framed – and had water battles in the bathroom, food contests, sloppy make-out sessions. They talked about their childhoods freely, about their opinions in politics, about religion and about the royal family; they learnt each other's favourite foods, idiosyncrasies, favourite movies and songs and hobbies. Sansa discovered that Oberyn played the guitar, Oberyn discovered that Sansa had a lovely singing voice, and they both discovered that they had been extremely lucky to have found each other when they did.

There were still bumps, of course; they didn't see eye to eye on the importance of appearances – they were invited out more and more, and Sansa insisted that they should go while Oberyn only wanted to burn the invitations -, didn't agree on how Sansa should spend Oberyn's money – Oberyn pointed out he hadn't wanted her to have a credit card to leave it to rot in her purse, Sansa said she should be free to spend any amount she wanted, provided _she_ had been the one working to earn it in the first place -, and they certainly didn't agree on how to spend his days off – Sansa hinted that it was only fair that they invited people for a change, Oberyn maintained that he would spend his one day off a week with his wife, and no one else -.

All things considered, Sansa was blissfully happy, and extremely lucky. Unlike many of her new friends' husbands, her own was considerate, and, even though he was working long hours and was barely home before eight thirty at night, he would be present every time it looked like she might need him.

They had a scare, a week after Sansa was implanted with her contraceptive, as they woke up one morning and Sansa's arm throbbed, red and swollen, and Oberyn had panicked, scrambled to get her to go to the hospital. Sansa had shrugged it off and had made an appointement with Dr. Colemon, who had immediately referred her to a general practitionner, who had in turn had given her antibiotics and a prescription for mild pain medication. Oberyn had fussed over her all day, and Sansa had laughed, telling him that, if he were panicked by this, he would have had a heart attack the one time she had been so sick she had been unable to get up or eat anything for an entire week.

 

* * *

 

On an ordinary Saturday in the beginning of Autumn, Sansa was woken up by the smell of fresh coffee and warm pastries. She stretched, yawning, searching for her husband's warmth in bed. His side was empty, and Sansa's cloudy mind finally made the connection that he might be downstairs making breakfast. Out of the blue the night before, Oberyn had decided they'd go on the drive up the Gold Road to the mountains, maybe spend the night there if she wanted to. He'd told her he was anxious to get her out of the city, out of the upper society's cruches, and to have her all by himself, if only for a day or two. He hadn't needed to persuade Sansa as she had almost jumped up and down at the idea to see mountains again.

She knew, consciously, that they would not be nor look like her northern mountains, but the weather would be cooler - maybe even cold. She crossed her fingers. She'd really, really like to be cold again. Plus, a day away with Oberyn, just him and her, might be exactly what they needed at the moment, what with his pressure at work and her own in social situations.

As she had predicted, Oberyn was making waffles in the kitchen as they went downstairs. She smiled, her heart growing just to see him fumble around happily, and had to stop herself from jumping to him immediately.

“You're being very busy this morning.” she joked, leaning against the door frame.

Oberyn turned to her, smiling, taking the last of the waffles out of the iron, taking them to her.

“It's going a be a busy day.”

“Damn. And here I thought I'd get to be lazy all day.” she sighed, faking disappointment.

Oberyn laughed. “Oh, no. Our day is completely packed.”

He kissed her nose, then walked to the fridge. Opening it, he stated :

“First, we need to get into the car and to the open road.” Grabbing juice, he closed the fridge and went on. “Then, we need to bicker about the songs we're going to listen to.”

Giggling, Sansa had to stop eating in the middle of a bite.

“After that, we need to get there and find a quiet spot in the mountain with a killer view.”

“A killer view ?” Sansa's eyebrow shot up.

“Of course !” Grabbing the plate from her, Oberyn bit down on her half-eated waffle, which Sansa watched leave with a broken heart. “Last week, we talked about teenage traditions we never got to do when we were younger. Do you remember ?”

“Yes.” she answered, weary of the reason why he was telling her this.

“Well,” he put the plate down and ensnared his two arms around her waist, “I found the perfect tradition to initiate you to this week end.”

“Okay.”she put her hands on his arms.

Leaning forward to whisper in her ear, Oberyn grinned mischievously. “Make out sessions in the back of the car.”

Sansa felt a shudder run through her from head to toe. “When are we leaving ?” she inquired, eagerly.

Oberyn roared with laughter, lifting her off her feet and moving towards the doors. Hiding her face in the crook of his neck, Sansa smiled from ear to ear, looking forward to the hours to come.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's to a hopeful new year ♥  
> Happy holidays, and a great New Year to all of you ! Mwah !


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long, I guess I haven't been doing as good as I thought I was. Sorry ! Enjoy.

The sun had been high in the cloudless sky when Oberyn had pulled up the car after their long journey. He had been right, too; the view _was_ a killer one : the horizon extended as far as Sansa could see, vast and green and breathtaking. She'd taken it all in, stretching her body to touch the sky, smiling as she had felt the wind play with her hair. It was a dry, cold wind, nothing like King's Landing's, and Sansa had wished she could take it home with her.

Oberyn had stood behind her, his arms around her waist, present but unimposing. He had pointed to her, some miles below and up river, the cabin they would stay in for the night, and Sansa had nodded. _Yes,_ she'd thought _, this was very nice._ She had planned telling her husband this, but had not yet gotten around to it as both their mouths were at present very happily engaged.

True to his word, Oberyn had led her to the back of his car and was now engrossed in kissing the life out of her – if not for the very primitive desires she felt at that moment, Sansa could have easily thought she had slipped into heaven. She was on his lap, barely touching him if not for her fingers on his nape and hair and her chest almost up to his collarbone, panting ever so slightly as the temperature rose in the car. His own fingers had found the hem of her dress easily enough, and had disappeared under it to now rest on her hips, just above her underwear.

Sansa couldn't say how long they had been like this, moving as though they shared the same body, kissing as though they would never see each other again. All she knew was that she never wanted it to end. There was no pressure, but she could tell that if she pushed, just a little bit, Oberyn would soon not be able to stop touching her; she knew this because of the way his fingers grabbed her skin – she'd have bruises tomorrow -, and she knew this because of the sounds he was making. Smiling, she realized the same could be said for her, except for the fact that, even if she was able to stop, she absolutely did not want to stop.

Even if she was doing this with her husband, the man she was legally wed to, the man who had shared her life for the past six months now, there was still something illicit about kissing like this, in reckless abandon, forgetting about their public surroundings, in the back of a car. It was crazy to think that two grown adults would still choose to make out like this, like two teenagers high on hormones; and yet, here they were. It was one of the things that had made her come to love Oberyn : despite all that she had been through, despite the circumstances of her marriage, he wanted her to feel a semblance of normalcy, experience the things normal girls her age experienced, without any stigma, any fear, any apprehension. She was done for, she thought desperately as her husband's tongue was inside her mouth, she was over – there would never be another day where her heart was free of him. She knew he would have given her anything she desired – he was very vocal about it – and all that she desired was him.

His fingers moved across her skin softly, marking her red and hot and bothered, charging her with fire, held back only by how lazily he was moving them, like he didn't even realize what he was doing, and by how undemanding his kisses were. There was heat, but no urgency – this was not a race but a marathon. She realized as he pulled back gently that this, thoses kisses, they were only the beginning of them, part of their honeymoon period, something they'll soon outgrow for a deeper connection and a better functionning relationship. It was wonderful to think about, that there were things, happy things, waiting for her down the road – and yet she wanted this period never to end.

He was trailing his lips on her jaw, her neck, her collarbone, and Sansa softly sighed with contentment.

“I'm really glad you're here with me.” he whispered against her bone, eliciting goosebumps on her arms.

“Trust me, the pleasure is all mine.” she joked, smiling as Oberyn laughed.

“I'm not quite sure that's true.”

 

* * *

 

In itself, the cabin was nothing extraordinary : wood and stone walls, hardwood floors, basic, sturdy furniture. Sansa toured it in a couple of minutes from top to bottom – she loved it instantly. She loved the energy, the simplicity of it, the rustic feel of old houses that King's Landing lacked so badly, loved it so much that she couldn't stop smiling.

“I take it that you like the cabin.” Oberyn chuckled, observing her from the door.

“I really do.” she smiled, taking it in with a last look before she sat down on one of the sofa's armrest, observing her husband with a tilted head. “Is what was was troubling you ? Me not liking the house ?”

“Nothing's troubling me.” he responded, taking off his jacket and sliding his sleeves up his arms.

Sansa's eyes followed his movements, staring at him for a second. “Liar.” she ended up stating as she looked back up at his face, arching her eyebrow. A small pang echoed in her heart when she noticed a shadow quickly hidden under an angelic gaze. She hoped it hadn't sounded too much like an accusation. 

He was walking towards her like a cat, silent but determined, and kissed her before she could say anything else.

Her lips hurt, actually hurt, from having already made out with him like two crazy people for close to an hour – but it seemed a small pain to live with for the pleasure of having Oberyn so close to her, moving against her. She had never felt such a thing before, and it frightened her to see that she readily accepted this pain without questioning it, that she knew she would endure much more if it meant keeping him near. Sighing, she pushed him back.

“Fine. I won't say any more. I'm going to continue enjoying this time with you – just know that I see it.”

Oberyn's jaw visibly clenched.

“Have you ?” he asked, “Enjoyed your time, I mean.”

“Of course.” she answered without hesitation.

“Good.”

Smiling at her, Oberyn made a move to leave, but Sansa grabbed him by his shirt, keeping him opposite her. She looked up at him for a while, not saying anything, trying to grasp what it was that he was hiding from her. Did he feel like she wouldn't listen ? Like she wouldn't care ?

“I love you.” she blurted out, her own words nearly knocking the wind out of her.

No later than as she heard them, she felt her heart stop for a second or two, and she realized what she had just said - her own shock was so intense that she barely registered the one that passed on Oberyn's face, the shine of his eyes, and how suddenly all tension had left him. They both went numb, surprised and still, until finally Oberyn moved. _Fuck_ , she thought as he sighed; _fuck_ , she thought as a smile slowly appeared on his lips; _fuck_ , she thought again as he took a step forward and whispered :

“Do you ?”

Slowly, very slowly, she nodded.

“Why ?” His voice was littler than she'd ever known it could be.

The expression on his face, the utter disbelief that someone would ever feel this way about him written plain on his face, in his eyes, this paralyzing fear that she couldn't understand and yet could sense in him shattered her to the core. She tried to smile.

“Because you're you. Unabashedly. All the time.” She had trouble looking at him straight in the eyes. “You have the strength to get up and fight and say no; and yet you're the kindest person I've ever met. The most generous. And yes, it irritates me to no end when you lie to me despite the fact that I _know_ you're lying and that you promised me honesty when we married, and yes, it's frustrating that you never want any help with anything, but -” she shrugged, “I love you. I can't help myself.”

Truthfully, it hadn't been how or when she'd wanted to tell him – if she had even wanted to tell him at all-, but she fact that the words had gotten out on their own meant that it was time, that he needed to know and she needed to say. With a soft sigh, she closed her eyes. _There was no going back now._

“I realize that I shouldn't, I realize that it may not be how you feel, or even what you want, I mean … We've known each other six months, maybe this shouldn't be happening, but it is.” She smiled, but she felt too sad, too tired, and she really didn't want to fight with Oberyn anymore.

“I never would have figured it out -” he joked, but his laugh came out dry. “I'd never would have thought -”

“Well, that's the problem, isn't it ?” She was loud, too loud, but everything came pouring out and she couldn't stop anything – maybe she didn't even want too. She frowned to herself. “You don't think that you deserve it. You don't think that you're worthy.”

His nostrils flared, but he didn't protest her words. She tightened her grip, tugging at him, yearning to make him believe her. Hear her.

“But _I_ do. I do. And it's anchored in me so deeply and so strongly that it doesn't even matter if you don't. My faith in you will hold for both of us.”

There was something inside of him that ached to believe her, and she could see it dancing behind his somewhat composed face. He was leaning towards her, but still holding back – it was driving her nuts. She, on the other end, was done holding back from him. She got up.

“I love you.” she repeated, her voice the only calm in the storm of emotions raging inside of her. She stood up so tall that Oberyn only had an inch or two over her, and his face was directly across from hers. She took his cheeks between her palms, trying to channel all of those feelings through her fingertips. “Why won't you let me ?”

“I'm scared I'll hurt you.” he whispered, “I'm scared you'll hurt me.”

“Nothing good ever comes easy.” she whispered back.

Lifting to her toes, Sansa closed the distance between them, and delicately aligned her lips with his. She felt his resistance, his doubts, but also felt something give way – a few seconds later, his mouth opened to make way for her, and his fingers abruptly grabbed her hips, pulled her closer.

She didn't give a damn that he hadn't said 'I love you' back, and that he probably wouldn't, ever; what she did care about, though, was making him understand what it meant to be loved like she loved him. That he'd never be alone, that he didn't have to be scared anymore. She was here, and, if he'd let her, she planned on being there for a very, very long time.

There was something rough, something primal in the way that he was kissing her now – he'd grabbed control back from her (not that she minded, really)- that was a hundred percent different from how he had kissed her in the car. This wasn't nice. This wasn't warm. This wasn't a teenage boy, and the backseat of a parent's car. This was her husband, possessing her and letting her possess him, this was burning her from the inside out, hot lava travelling inside her veins. He was the sun, he was the stars, and there was a violence that he had never shown before. She should run, she thought, her feet firmly planted to the ground; she was panting, open-mouthed, and he was devouring her skin like a ravenous beast. She hadn't learnt her lesson, she thought, any lesson. This was a dangerous man – he bit her, she yelped, and somehow she found herself not wearing a dress – and yet, she was miles from wanting to run in the opposite direction.

He grabbed her so easily, and when her back hit the mattress, her bra was gone, too. She was down, open, defenseless, and he was above her, the perfect representation of a predator. He was staring at her – she was naked, except for her underwear and socks, how ridiculous -, looking like the sight pleased him almost as much as the touch, but Sansa lacked any patience. She pulled him to her, but their kiss didn't last; he was far too happy to touch her breasts, all tongue and fingers, and she writhed under him, gasping for air.

There was nothing romantic about it, nothing at all : it was violence and frustration and impatience, and all that mattered was that they were touching, everything was touching, his fingers on her thigh, her thigh on his hips – he was still cruelly dressed -, his hips pining her down, at least for now. He was kissing her skin down to her stomach, a path he'd taken before, much to her enjoyment; and he was kissing her like their embrace had a deadline, an expiration date, like he could never do it again after that. Everything was messy, and Sansa fumbled with undressing him, and he seemed too amused, too engrossed in what they were doing, that he'd forgotten to be afraid. She smiled, biting her lip, when he finally had enough of her fingers, and leaned back up to his knees to take off his own clothes. She stared – what else could she do ? - as he smirked, greatly enjoying her pleasure. She licked her lips. She, on the other end, was terrified, and she hoped to the Gods Oberyn would not see it. Granted, she was panting – her breasts moving with each breath – and fascinated by his movements – Oberyn in boxers. Very distracting.  – and anyway, it wasn't the kind of fear that stopped you dead in your tracks, the kind of fear that held you down.

It was the kind of fear that made you jump off a plane with only a parachute, the fear that made your foot heavy on the gas pedal on a race track, the kind of fear that came with adrenaline and excitement and exhilaration. She didn't want it to stop.

He was licking down her stomach, and she shivered. _Fuck_. She'd missed this. She'd missed the way her husband was looking at her over her hips, with his sly, cocky smirk of pride as he elicited moans of pleasure from her, with his look that clearly stated 'you belong to me'. Hells, yes. She belonged to him, right here and now, happily so, blissfully so, especially when the tip of his tongue moved like _that_ over her clit. She moaned, loud, unabashedly, and he took it as his invitation to keep going. He licked, and sucked, and played with his tongue until she was just of puddle of joy and came, hard, shouting curses that made him laugh. She shouted his name, too, and that made him shiver and start again. He made her come one more time before he was satisfied – she was in a fog of pleasure, all smiles and contentment – and moved back up to kiss her. She could taste herself on his tongue.

The fire had cooled by then, but Sansa wasn't done burning. She carefully slid a hand down his underwear, and Oberyn both leaned into the touch and tried to move out of it.

“I don't have protection.” he protested.

“We don't need any, dummy.” she smiled, and this time her fingers weren't fumbling around.

“I don't want to hurt you.” he whispered.

“That can't be helped.” She looked at him straight in the eye, whispering too. “I will hurt, and maybe I'll freeze, but you can't let that stop us.”

His cock was hard as steel, and slowly pulsating while her fingers made their way down, then back up.

“Like Hells I can't. I won't hurt my wife.”

“Stop. Close your eyes.”

He frowned.

“Just do it, will you ?” she laughed, and he obeyed.

He was hanging above her, his hands planted, firmly, on either side of his face, his hair falling down towards her. She observed him as her fingers kept going, all of them, around his shaft, moving not only up and down, but making circles, too. She had no idea what she was doing, no idea if she was making a fool of herself, but Oberyn didn't seem to mind. His mouth was open, and it was his turn to start panting now.

“Don't open your eyes.” she warned, and pushed him backwards with her other hand. “Sit up.”

There was something wonderful, she realized, smiling, in directing Oberyn, seeing him obey. She stripped him down of his boxers when she could - she struggled again, but he said nothing -  and lay on her stomach, her eyes directly on his cock.

She had never seen it that close, and that somehow felt funny to her. It was quite ugly, all red and veiny and slightly tilted to the right. The absurdity of those discoveries and her fascination with every detail of it made her want to laugh, although she abstained, certain that Oberyn would have not taken it this way. There was something shiny on the tip, and Sansa brushed it with her thumb, delighted to hear her husband gasp. He was holding on to the end of the bed, on his knees – this did not look comfortable – but she had other matters to attend to. Her hand was still moving, but she was no longer statisfied with that, and soon replaced her fingers with her tongue. There was another gasp, a shiver that shook him as she sucked on the skin right behind the head of it, a moan as she licked down to his balls, took them one by one in her mouth.

They felt different than his cock, soft when it was hard, bouncy, light, when the shaft did not seem to be pliable. At all. It was all so fascinating to her, and she wanted to try everything, and she wanted to know how different touch with fingers and touching with lips was. Her tongue licked at the small opening on the tip - “Fuck!” Oberyn shouted, and his eyes were open, focused on her as she focused on his cock – and, spurred by his shallow breathing and the quickening pulsation, engulfed her whole mouth around it. Oberyn shouted again, and she heard the bed creak. She didn't – couldn't – take much of him in, but she made the most of what she could do, and stopped when Oberyn started shaking.

Truthfully, she didn't want to stop, and she'd have been happy to keep going, maybe have him give her direction, tips on how to please him more effectively – he'd promised, after all -, but if Oberyn came now, he'd take it as an excuse to stop everything, and Sansa was far from done.

“Don't move your hands.” she said, and this bossy side of her surprised her. She had never thought she could take the reins like this, have Oberyn do what she wanted. But he obeyed, and, upon another command, sat, staring at her, heart beating wildly – she could feel it, almost as an echo to her own heartbeat – as she stradled him. With one hand on his shoulder and one hand around the base of his cock, Sansa lowered herself unto him, very, very slowly – Oberyn's knuckles were white around the frame, and his hips struggled to not abruptly meet hers – getting used to the once familiar sensation, although everything was wildly different from her time with – _him_.

For one, she opened for Oberyn so readily that she almost cried from it.

For another, her current dominance made it so easy to not think about Joffrey.

And three, she was so very willing, so ready, so committed to actually participate, that everything else just fell into place.

She yelped as she hit her limit, and almost fell onto her husband. She slid her hands on his nape, their eyes caught, and she nodded, half smiling, closing her eyes. Ignoring her command now, his own hands softly made their way to her hips as she started to move them to her own rhythm, her own pleasure. She was gasping, she tilted her head back a little bit, she felt powerful, and invincible, and in control. Oberyn was gasping, too; she could hear him breathe, and focused on it to move accordingly – he was still immobile, waiting for something. Honestly, Sansa couldn't care – her head was filled with waves, her body was trembling a little, her muscles ached; and yet, there was no way she'd stop before she got there.

Her fingers raked at his skin a little – she thought she was falling – and she moaned, prompting her husband to start moving, too. On the polar opposite to what they had been doing earlier, this was gentle, and slow, and loving.

“Are you okay ?” Oberyn asked, a little too softly.

The answer came blurting out. “Gods, yes !”

He laughed, helping her roll her hips with his hands, his pelvis moving under her, inside her. It was driving her mad, it felt like she was going mad, never would she have thought penetration could ever feel this good ! It was creeping up her bones, this feeling, similar to her previous orgasms, and yet so fucking different – it was settling in her stomach (were those noises coming from her ? From him ? Everything was jumbled.), it was dancing around her heart, it was messing with her head. She came, maybe not as hard as before, but she went limp with the pleasure of it, there were tears in her eyes, happy tears, and Oberyn was holding her tight.

She was afraid he'd let go, so when she fell backwards, back on the mattress, she took him with her, refused to let him go – although she had no strength at all, it felt like she had no bones, no muscles, and she was made of clouds – and when he moved again, a little more aggressive this time, but not painful (she was so wet, it felt like he was playing in a slip n'slide, the thought of it making her giggle), she opened her eyes and was back in her body. She looked over at him – he was on his knees, but his hands at not moved from her hips -, and found him groaning, his face contorted in pleasure. He was sliding in and out faster, but not deeper (he had not yet abandonned all control, for which she was grateful, as she didn't think she could take much more of him, she felt already so full), his eyes were closed but his body open.

She had to pee, she thought, the realization so far away from what was actually happening that she bit her lip not to laugh. She tried to squeeze around his cock – she would most certainly _not_ pee on him - and his moan shot in her ears. This felt good, she grasped, and she waited a few seconds before she did it again.

“Fuck !” he grunted, and she shivered.

An orgasm was building again in her stomach, the incessant coming and going of her husband inside her riling her up a fourth time – four times ? Surely this was a record. Right ? -. She tried not to let it distract her, to keep moving, keep focusing on him, but it was harder than she thought, and she was soon washed away again by intense pleasure, grabbing Oberyn's wrists, only half noticing – her head was in the clouds again – when he came, too. She heard him moan and growl and give a last thrust, harsher than his previous moves, before she felt something warm slide inside. She smiled, perfectly contented, eyes half opened, embracing her husband as he came crashing down on top of her.

Their took a minute, laying there in silence, to control their shallow breathing and come back to earth. Sansa lazily stroked Oberyn's hair, feeling slowly coming back in her legs, enjoying the weight of her husband on top of her. He was relaxed, from head to toe, finally – it made her smile bigger.

“How are you feeling ?” he inquired, after a few more moments of silence and moving away from Sansa. He was laying on his side, elbow planted in the bed, staring over at her.

“Really good.” she giggled. “I had no idea sex could be so nice.”

Oberyn chuckled, kissed her shoulder.

“I didn't-” he whispered against her skin.

She didn't wait until he was finished to protest. “No.” She turned to him. “How about you ? How do you feel ?”

“Good. Yes.” he chuckled again. “I feel like a teenager who just had his first time.”

Sansa laughed, cuddling against him. “Thank you for taking the chance with me.”

There was a small silence before Oberyn replied, in a low voice. “Thank you for trusting me to do it right.”

“You still need to teach me how to get better, though.”

Even without looking, Sansa knew he was rolling his eyes.

“Once thing at a time, little wife." he kissed her collarbone,  "One thing at a time. Hungry ?”

“Famished.”

“I'll go make dinner, then.”

Kissing her forehead, Oberyn pushed Sansa to get up from the bed. She observed, hungrily, as he rose, and walked to the bathroom, out of which he emerged a few minutes after wearing pants. Sansa stretched, sitting up.

“Anyone ever tell you you look hot shirtless ?” Sansa joked.

Oberyn pretended to sigh. “Too many times to count. The bane of my existence.”

Sansa rolled her eyes, amused and smiling. “You're an idiot.”

“Yes,” Oberyn walked closer, “but _you_ married me, which makes me your idiot.”

Sansa laughed. Grabbing his hands, she pulled him in and kissed him hard.

“I'm okay with that.” she whispered on his lips, and Oberyn smiled as she made him fall back to the bed with her.

 


	8. Chapter 8

“Well, that was a really nice week-end.” Sansa sighed, letting her head softly hit the headrest of her car seat. “It's a shame we're ruining it by going back to King's Landing.”

Next to her, Oberyn let out a chuckle before taking her hand in his, lifting to his mouth. She turned to him.

“We don't have to go back, you know.” he stated, squeezing her hand.

“We kind of do, though. You have a job. I have _to find_ a job.” she grimaced, smiling.

Still looking at the road, Oberyn echoed her smile. “I can work from anywhere. And so can you.” He paused for a second before arching an eyebrow. “We could move to Dorne.”

His smile grew bigger, and her heart melted in her chest. It was a beautiful dream, and she hated to bring him back to reality; she closed her eyes and listened as he continued.

“There are _amazing_ jobs in Dorne. Amazing people. Amzing food, amazing drinks. Amazing view.”

“Your amazing family to meet.” she teased, chuckling.

His gaze fell on her for a second before turning back to the road. They were stuck in traffic, driving slow, but he was still cautious; the AC in the car gave her goosebumps.

“Now, would that be so bad ?” he asked.

Sansa shrugged. “I don't know. I suppose I will have to, eventually.”

“That's the spirit.” he smirked, voice dripping with sarcasm, though he didn't appear to be angry at her for her lack of enthusiasm. She shrugged again.

“You know they're not going to be happy to meet me.”

“Why wouldn't they ?”

“Because I wasn't exactly a prize, you know. Me being a pariah and all.”

“You were, to me.”

Sansa playfully hit him on the arm.

“I'm being serious !” he exclaimed, making her laugh.

“You're smitten.”

He winked at her, and she laughed harder.

“In all seriousness, though. They're not going to like me, they're going to think I married you for your money.”

“Well, in all fairness, little wife, you did marry me for my money.”

“Yes, but you were okay with it. They won't understand that.”

“Actually, they already know.”

“What ?” Sansa exclaimed, surprised, her mouth agape.

“I tell my brother everything.” It was Oberyn's turn to shrug.

She continued staring at him until he turned to her, laughing merrily.

“You're so cute.”

He took advantage of the fact that traffic had stopped completely to briefly kiss her.

“They are going to adore you, like I do.” he whispered to her. “Don't worry.”

He kissed her again before focusing back to driving, unwilling to let go of her hand. Sansa, too, turned back ahead, before she stated :

“You know we're not moving to Dorne, right ?”

Oberyn sighed dramatically. “Now, that is heartbreaking.”

Sansa shook her head, giggling. He kissed her hand again, smiling against the back of it.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, after Oberyn had left for work – he had woken her up with his head between her legs, smiling devishly as she slowly emerged from sleep –, Sansa decided to buckle down and find a job. She took a long, warm shower to properly wake up, and settled downstairs with a cup of tea and her computer. Waiting for it to boot up, she gathered the leaflets she'd taken from the guidance counselor's office, and filled out – properly, this time – the test she'd been given to find out what job ought to match her personality and goals.

She was interrupted by the shrill noise of her phone ringing, and she barely glanced at the caller I.D. before she answered.

“Hello ?”

“Mrs Martell, hi. I'm sorry for interrupting your morning, -”

“Not at all, hello.”

On the other end of the line, doctor Colemon seemed hesitant.

“Hello.” she repeated. “I was wondering if you could come by the practice this afternoon. I have a few questions for you, if you don't mind.”

“Of course, is everything all right ?” Sansa frowned.

“Yes, yes, everything is fine. There is no need to worry.”

 _Too late_ , Sansa thought, her heart already beating a little faster.

“Would you be willing to come by around two o'clock ?” the doctor asked.

“I will be there.” Sansa stated. “Do you mind me asking what this is about ?”

There was a small silence on the other end of the phone before doctor Colemon spoke again.

“Like I said, I have a few basic questions. I also would like to check up on your arm, if you don't mind.”

“Of course. I'll see you at two, then.”

It was strange, Sansa thought, frowning. Was it strange ? She couldn't tell. She hadn't had a gynecologist before, so maybe this was how they operated. She sighed, and tried – and failed – to focus on finishing the test. Because she was so distracted, it took her longer than expected, which frustrated and angered her. Or maybe she was frustrated and angry at her doctor for being enigmatic. Or at herself for not knowing anything, what her dream job was, what she was suited for, how to stand up for herself and not start panicking every time something slightly off schedule happened.

Sansa closed her eyes, forced herself to take deep breaths and not let herself be controlled by the growing pit in her stomach, by her rising anxiety, and she shook her head until she could think about something else.

She, of course, ended up unable to think about anything else, and arrived at the doctor's office a full half-hour early. The receptionnist invited her to take a seat, which she did, and she fiddled with the hem of her dress, looking around, trying not to look too panicked, too impatient. She waited, sitting on her hands – she had to try something to stop herself from gnawing at her nails – until the doctor arrived, a hand extended towards her.

“Mrs Martell, thank you for coming.”

“Of course.”

Sansa shook her hand, smiling. She followed the older woman to her office, exchanging pleasantries as they walked. As soon as the door was closed behind them, though, Sansa dropped all pretense.

“Is everything all right, doctor ?” she inquired, her hands clasped together.

“It is, yes. I just wanted to check up on you, see how the implant was doing. May I see your arm ?”

“Of course.” Sansa repeated, taking off her jacket.

Doctor Colemon inspected her arm, looking for bumps or any irregularities, pleased by the result.

“Any other problem since the last time you've called me ?”

“None, no.”

“And your period ?”

Sansa crinkled her nose at the word. Adult or not, she had never had anyone ask her about it so plainly. _Did the doctor felt as awkward as she did_?

“There's fewer blood. Less painful, too.”

“And do you have a regular cycle ?”

“If you compare it to what it was even only a year ago, it's clockwork.”

_Was it her, or was the office very warm ?_

“You didn't use to have a regular cycle ?”

“No.”

She glanced up at the doctor to find that she was waiting for more information, to which Sansa blushed.

“Sometimes I didn't bleed for a few months, even without, a, uh -”

“Even without any sexual encounters.” the doctor finished for her.

“Yes.” Sansa swallowed. “And sometimes I would bleed for a week straight, and the pain would be horrible.”

“But it's better now.”

“Much. Yes.”

“Good.”

Doctor Colemon smiled, then invited Sansa to sit at her desk. It was her turn to look uncomfortable.

“Mrs Martell, to be honest with you, there is a specific reason I've been wanting to talk with you.”

Sansa frowned.

“As I've said the last time we met, I see a lot of women, both here and at the clinic, who don't know anything regarding their bodies, at least sexually and, you know, in terms of biology and reproduction.” she sighed. “And I've been talking with a few colleagues, and I've found out that it's not just me who sees those women. The problem is widespread, and very grave. At least to me.”

Sansa nodded, not knowing where all of this was going.

“So it got me thinking,” the doctor continued, “we need to do something. This isn't normal.”

“We ?” Sansa lifted an eyebrow.

“We, as women. Yes.”

“And you want me to - ?”

The doctor smiled. “I was hoping – Well, I'm putting together a report that I will take to the Department of Health, and I was hoping I could use your experience.”

Sansa's first instinct was _no. No_. She was not ready to have everyone know about what had happened to her, what Joffrey had – She shook her head. She didn't want to think about him, not now.

“My experience regarding what exactly ?”

She hped to the Gods the doctor did not hear her voice trembling.

“Your lack of knowledge regarding contraception. Or even how your period worked, how it fit in the reproduction process.”

“Nothing else ?”

The doctor frowned. “I'm sorry ?”

“That's all you'll talk about in your report ?”

The older woman got up from behind her desk, going around it in wide strides, sitting down next to Sansa, taking her hand.

“Mrs Martell, are you all right ?”

A shot of panic rippled though her organs.

“Yes.” she smiled, hiding behind as much politeness as she could, trying not to falter.

“Sansa -”

“And of course you can use my experience.” Sansa tried to deflate the situation. _She needed to leave._ “Everything will be anonymous anyway, won't it ?”

“Of course.” the other woman stated.

She was still looking at Sansa pointedly, as though she were hoping to uncover her secrets. Sansa took her hand back.

“Good. Good luck with the report.”

“Thank you.”

Sansa nooded, then got up to leave.

“I'm not just here for contraception, you know. You're welcome to talk to me if anything, _anything_ , is wrong.”

Sansa took a deep breath. “Nothing is wrong, doctor. I'm fine.” She turned back to her gynecologist. “I'm really glad you're doing this. I wish I could help more.”

“Maybe you could.”

Sansa frowned, tilted her head.

“There are many things that can be done regarding this particular issue. Maybe you could use your name, both your names, to help advance it. Make it known.”

“You want me to be a spokesperson, of sorts ?”

“I want you to be healthy. But if you want to help, maybe you should look into it.” doctor Colemon smiled.

Sansa nodded her head, absently, then smiled, too.

“I'll see you around, doctor.”

 

* * *

 

Sansa was just out of the doctor's office, her head still in it and her heart beating wildly, walking down the busy street, when something stopped her dead in her tracks. She frowned.

Her face was on the cover of a magazine.

A real life - quite famous too, although little more than a tabloid - magazine. Read by people, written by people. And her face was on it.

It was hers. Her face was on the cover. It was an old photo from business school, one they'd taken and used when she won Martell Enterprises' interview, blown up to fit the entire page. She remembered the university newspaper it had appeared in later, and how disappointed she had felt when, where all her predecessors had been on the cover, she had been relegated to a small article next to the table of contents. She'd still bought it, though, and it was still part of the few things that followed her around. Sometimes, she'd look at the journal, at the article, and think to herself that there would come a day when the school would bite their nails and regret putting her there.

It seemed now like that day may be approaching. Slow, sure, and it may not come on the terms she'd once set for herself and her success, but it was coming.

Her reckoning.

She frowned, picked up the magazine, unable to grasp the fact that she was staring at herself, that there was her name on the bottom – her maiden name, though -, that there were people buying this. It was surreal to think about. She stared at it stupidly until the vendor snapped at her to buy it.

The first thing she did, once at home, was to take it out and stare at it again. She wanted to read it and didn't want to read it at the same time, curiousity battling fear, and, in the end, the first won.

**'Sansa Stark – The woman who married the unmarriable – An exclusive portrait'**

A portrait ? She frowned. She hadn't given any interviews. At least not that she knew of ! She eagerly opened the magazine, flipping the pages until she finally arrived on the article she was looking for. There again were a few pictures of her, some from high school, some from business school, some were old newspaper photos from back when she was still a child, and, most surprizing, a photo of Oberyn and her kissing. The picture was blurry, with a very low quality image, but there they were, embracing as two new lovers would. Sansa smiled. If anything, she liked the picture, although her brain groaned about invasion of privacy.

Dropping to the loveseat, kicking off her shoes and putting down all her things, she dipped into the actual print, scoffing here, raising an eyebrow there, rolling her eyes as things became really idiotic. In essence, the article was not so much about her as it was about Oberyn finally marrying, and the distorted version of how the journalist thought it had happened – although they did have a few of her old comrades give a portrait of who they had perceived she was, which ranged from 'shallow idiot' (high school, which Sansa knew to be true), to 'cold, aloof weirdo' and 'über competitive bitch' (business school, which was true too, although she resented the bitch part), passing of course by the 'no comment' comment of the Lannister family representative and the 'snide snort' of one Joffrey Baratheon, future King of the Nation (uh-oh).

“What are you reading ?” Oberyn inquired after he'd come back home and kissed her hair.

“Well,” she smiled, turning around to face her husband, “something unbelievable happened. As in, you're not going to believe it.”

“What happened ?” He was taking off his jacket, loosening his tie.

 _Damn_ , Sansa thought, losing track of the conversation for a second. Noticing it, Oberyn smirked, and quickly kissed her lips.

“I missed you today.” he told her, trying to sit down next to her. “Scoot.”

She eagerly obeyed, waiting until he was settled to put her legs on top of his, still facing him.

“So what happened ?”

“I'd just gotten out of the doctor's office-”

“Why were you in the doctor's office ?” Oberyn interrupted her, frowning.

“- and I passed this newsstand and I found this !” she exclaimed, showing him the magazine.

Laughing, Oberyn took it in his hands and looked at the cover. “Nice. Now,” he turned back to her, “why were you in the doctor's office ?”

Snorting, Sansa took the magazine back. “Will you please stay on track ?”

“I am. My track is finding out why my wife has doctor's appointments she doesn't tell me about.”

“Can we please go back to the article ?” Sansa rolled her eyes, smiling.

“Absolutely not. What was it about ?”

“The article ? About you, mostly. The cover is just misleading.”

“Your appointment.”

“I didn't say I had an appointment.”

“Sansa -”

“Oberyn-” she interrupted, “ stop. I'm fine, and I'm not ready to tell you about it yet, all right ?”

She tried to say it as nicely as she could, but she could tell by her husband's retracted pupils that he wasn't happy with her answer. Still, he kept quiet and took the magazine from her, flipping the pages until he got to the article about them.

“Hm.” he mused, reading it quickly as Sansa watched. “Well, that's a load of bull.”

Sansa laughed. “You're just jealous you're not on the cover, for once.”

She tried taking it back from his hands, but he elegantly threw it on the table, snatching his wife by the waist and pulled until she was straddling him.

“You would tell me if you weren't okay, right ?” he inquired in a low voice.

“Yes.” she kissed his nose, her palms cupping his cheeks. “Just give me a few days to process it, and I will tell you about it then. Deal ?”

“Deal.”

He smiled, more for her benefit than by real sentiment.

“How was _your_ day, then, husband ?”

“Mm. Let's see.” he mused. “I got to snatch a contract from under Tywin Lannister's nose.”

“Nice.” Sansa winked.

Oberyn smirked. “It did feel pretty nice.”

She laughed merrily while he continued.

“I found out who, among my board of directors, was not exactly ... _loyal_ to the company.”

“Bastard.” Sansa gasped. “Did you fire him ?”

“Not only did I fire him, but I made damn sure no one would hire him at Lannister Co, or anywhere else.”

She frowned, unsure if she was okay with that. After all, the same thing had been done to her, and that had destroyed her.

“He came after my father's legacy. He should be glad he's still standing.” he said, as though he had heard her thoughts.

The dark flame in her husband's eyes bothered her, and she straightened her back. Oberyn's arms were still around her, holding her in place – as if she wanted to go anywhere else –, but at least this way she could look at him properly.

“Like I should be glad I'm still alive ?”

“That's not the same thing, Sansa. You didn't do anything wrong.”

He was shaking his head.

“According to the Lannisters, I did.”

“It's still not the same thing.”

“Okay.” She leaned in and kissed him softly. “Just be careful. I like your ass, and I don't want to see it bitten.”

Oberyn laughed. “Duly noted.”

 

* * *

 

For the week after the article came out, Sansa was assailed with phone calls, asking for interviews and appearances on tv, on red carpets, on radio talk shows. She saw herself on tv, being judged for her clothes, her hair, her weight; she saw people who didn't know her from adam destroy her, peg her as a whore, a golddigger, a master manipulator. Had it not happened to her before, she would have been devastated; but this time, the abuse did not reach her – she had something she didn't have last time, something to fight for.

Besides, better things demanded her time : her husband when he came home in the evenings, her upcoming appointment with doctor Colemon to talk about her experiences as a young woman, the annual Martell E. employee gala that Oberyn and she would be hosting, for example. She had other concerns than hearing people lash out at her for imaginery reasons – she lived through it once, she would live through it again.

There was a small idea making its way through her head, too; an idea that kept her up at night, that distracted her during the day, an question that had turned into an idea that had, in turn, formulated itself into a vague plan; something she had said to her doctor. _I wish I could help more._

_Maybe you could._

She hadn't told Oberyn any of it yet, waiting for something concrete to present him. Plus, and it was the hardest thing for her to be okay with, she needed to think about Joffrey. About his family. About what had been done to her. To _her_ family. She needed to think about contingency plans, about collateral damages. About whether or not she would ever be ready to say, out loud, what had been going on behind closed doors.

She also needed to think about Oberyn, about his reaction. Chances were, he would not want her to say anything. Chances were he would not accept what she wanted to do. And, like it or not, she needed him. She needed his support.

She was actually gnawing at her fingers, thinking about all of it with a sick feeling in her stomach, when Oberyn sat down next to her, and turned her chair so that she would face him.

“I know I said I would wait until you were ready to tell me,” he stated, looking directly into her eyes, “but I can't. Something's visibly upsetting you, and you need to tell me. Now.”

A sigh escaped her lips, and Sansa shook her head.

“Is it about what's being said on tv ?” Oberyn pressed her.

“How do you know about that ?” she frowned.

“Doran told me.” he shrugged. “Which also got me wondering why _you_ hadn't.”

“It's unimportant.”

“It's important if it's bothering you.”

“It's not.” she tried to smile. “It's – a bother, but it's not bothering me. Let them have at it, when they get bored, they'll move on.”

“Then the doctor's appointment. The one from last week. Something happened.”

None of what he was saying were questions, and it made Sansa faintly giggle to see him so authoritative in this particular situation.

“Kind of.”

“Is there something wrong ?”

His frown was deep on his forehead.

“No, no.” Sansa took a deep breath. “She's presenting something, a report, to the Department of Health regarding women and their access to knowledge concerning sexual health. She's asked me to be a part of it.”

“And it's bothering you ?”

“Not per se. I told her I'd happily do it, which I will, gladly. It's just – It's got me thinking about the bigger picture.”

Still frowning, Oberyn put his hands on her knees, waiting for her to elaborate. She cleared her throat, unsure where to start.

“From the way things have been explained to me when I was a child, both by my mother or by Cersei Lannister, I thought sex was something I owed Joffrey when we were, you know -”

“Going out ?”

“Yeah.” she nodded. She was gripping the edges of the seat so hard that her knuckles were white, and her fingers hurt. “So I let him do whatever he wanted. I didn't even think about consent, about the fact that I could say no, no matter how much I wanted to. I thought that was the way it worked, I thought this was the way it would always work.”

Oberyn was tense, she could read that energy plainly, though she could not bring herself to look at him. She felt so ashamed of herself, so weary, so afraid. She closed her eyes, quickly praying that Oberyn would still want her after this. That he would not send her packing.

“And I've learnt since that it's not how it should work. I've learnt about consent. I've learnt about how sex should feel. In a way, Joffrey dumping me was one of the best thing that could have happened to me. I mean, of course it was the most horrible time of my life, losing my family, and I'm not saying I don't miss them, or that I'm glad they're gone -” she was fumbling, red as a beet, and she took a deep breath before she continued. “I'm just saying I'm lucky I got out.”

“Sansa, I -”

“Sometimes, when I'm out with the wives of King's Landing's rich and powerful, I look around and I see the woman I would have become had I gotten married with Joffrey. Red wrists, bruises hidden under concealer, on a never ending alcohol binge, just to be able to stand and pretend for another day, and I – I feel lucky.” She shook her head. “Of course, I'm not saying that they're all victims of abuse, of course not, I'm sure that there are decent marriages in the lot, but – It's still too much if there is even just one woman living through it.”

“So you want to fight for that woman ?”

“Hells yes, I want to fight. For her, for all the women like her, like me, that feel ashamed, and guilty, despite the clear fact they should not, I want to fight for the little girls who are going to grow up and become us, for the daughters I want to have. I want to fight.”

Sansa looked up to see Oberyn grin from ear to ear.

“Let's fight, then.”

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for mentions of rape.

“Are you ready for this ?” Oberyn asked his wife, pressing a light kiss on her temple.

The two of them were looking at an empty podium, an island in the back of an immense room, surrounded by people working, fussing, running – and the Martell-Starks were the only fixed point yet. Everyone was getting ready for the charity dinner the doctor was putting together – when she had asked for help, Sansa hadn't been able to say no, although she regretted it bitterly now -, putting tables and chairs and setting them up with long ribbons and small bows. The room would be beautiful, under the soft light and once full; now, however, it felt like an empty stomach, waiting to be fed, and she was the promised meal – a prospect she was far from rejoicing in. Sansa sighed.

“No.”

She couldn't stop herself from shaking. Was she really doing this ? She shook her head slowly. Doctor Colemon had needed a spokesperson, a voice to carry all the muted ones society didn't want to hear, a woman who would be the very public representative of the cause, and the Martell bride, still flush with youth and beauty, once a beggar and now so publicly back to wealth and a new – and high - social standing, had been the obvious candidate. Sansa couldn't believe she'd said yes.

She wanted to kick herself.

“You don't have to go through with it, my love. I'll pull the plug on this, right now. We'll never speak of it again.”

She let her head fall gently aginst her husband's chest, groaning softly. Her knight in shining armour, always ready to save her. Always ready to fight, to run for battle. Her stomach was churning. _It was time, though, wasn't it ?_ She frowned. _Wasn't it time she did her own saving ?_

Standing straight, Sansa turned to Oberyn, looking at him directly in the eye.

“I need you to be honest with me.”

Oberyn nodded eagerly, concentrated on her.

“I do this,” she started, “there is no turning back. The cameras will be rolling, journalists will be writing. The internet will have a field day, probably.” she smiled, weakly. “It will forever be known, forever out there, and a lot of people are going to resent us for it. Me, for saying it; you, for not stopping me. We won't ever be able to take it back, no matter how much we want to. Life will never be the same.”

“And you want to know if I'm okay with it.”

She nodded, pleading inside her head. _Please say yes, please say yes, please say yes_.

“Honestly ? I'm not sure.” Oberyn sighed. “A part of me wishes it would stay private until you're ready, until we have evidence, maybe a case ready to go to trial. For you, and for my sister, too. It would be easier to attack if had ammunition.”

“I don't want to attack anyone.”

“Well, don't expect them not to attack you.” Oberyn took her shoulders in his hands. “You're going after a lion's cub. Trust me, the lions will bite.”

“I've always thought a snake was more dangerous than a lion.” Sansa half-smiled.

“You've been spending too much time on the phone with my brother.” Oberyn laughed.

Sansa chuckled, then sighed.

“I'm not expecting what comes next to be easy. We'll be in the public eye, I mean, more than we already are; we'll probably even become pariahs. Again, at least for me.”

“And yet you're still here.”

“I'm still here.” she repeated.

Oberyn stared at her for a long time before speaking again.

“So am I, little wife. And by your side I'll always be.”

Leaning forward, his hands descending to her waist, his lips captured hers softly, but demanding. Without having to think, she linked her arms around his neck, pushing back against him – smiling. She couldn't help but be happy, her stress forgotten, her nerves disappearing. They kissed, unaware that they were in public, unable to care about the smiles and the looks they were getting, only thinking of each other. And when Sansa pulled away, it was only because she had heard a small cough.

“I'm sorry to disturb you,” Doctor Colemon said, barely hiding her smile, “but we really need to run through your speech for lightning and sound. If you can spare a moment.”

“I'll be right there.” Sansa answered, trying to keep from giggling.

“I promise I'll let the two of you go home right after this. Don't worry.”

The two women were widely smiling, now. Sansa shot a last look at Oberyn – who didn't seem very happy to let her go – and followed the older woman.

 

* * *

 

 

When they got home, a little later that day, after rehearsals, only having a couple of hours to shower and change and get ready, Oberyn didn't even bother to wait. To wait until they were settled, to wait until they were even sure nobody was home - he grabbed his wife by the hips and hoisted her on their hall chest drawer, right opposite their front door, planting sloppy kisses on her neck, causing Sansa to giggle unabashedly and unreservedly. He'd kept his hand on her thigh the whole ride over, present but not pressing, and he had only held her waist on the way up – but, back in the privacy of their home, their space, he had forgotten all decency and pounced on her as a animal would do his prey. Not that she minded, of course; she absolutely loved sleeping with her husband. So far, they had confined themselves to the bed, but it didn't seem like Oberyn was thinking of taking her up to their bedroom now.

She responded in kind when he took her lips, holding on to the drawer for dear life, qucikly getting aroused as she felt his pulse quicken, the surefire sign that Oberyn was honed on her, on what they were doing, what they were about to do. She bit his lip, and he growled roughly, in a low voice, making her shiver from head to toe.

His fingers were pushing up her skirt, already looking for her underwear – her own heart was beating like a madman, a rush of hormones surging through her, making her grab her husband by the waist. They were being sloppy, they were being loud (Sansa was fairly sure she'd pushed a vase to the ground and had heard it squash into pieces, but she wasn't about to leave Oberyn's mouth to check – she had priorities), they were being so engrossed in one another that nothing could pry them apart. In a quick motion, one that made her cry in delight and amusement, her husband ripped the fabric of her panties and let them fall to the ground.

Laughing, Sansa moaned against his lips.

“I liked those !”

“I'll buy you a thousand others.” Oberyn groaned, recapturing her lips.

She was laughing, almost despite her, her heart beating, her thighs almost shaking – this really wasn't her favourite position to be in, but she wasn't going to complain – basking in anticipation. Her hands moved up his back to his nape, using him to steady herself, her body, gladly opening her legs to him.

“What's gotten into you, husband ?” she whispered as he kissed her neck.

“Do you want me to stop ?”

“Gods, no.” she giggled, then sighed happily, closing her legs around his hips. “I'm just wondering.”

Oberyn bit her neck so suddenly that she yelped.

“You're pushing back.” he answered. “You're done taking crap. And I find it very -” He took one of her wrists, guided her hand down to his crotch where Sansa could clearly feel his erection – her own crotch was joyously twitching in response - “arousing.”

She would have happily kept her fingers where they were, maybe sliding them under his boxers, but Oberyn had already pushed them away back to the dresser.

“Better hold on, little wife.” he rasped.

Sansa closed her eyes, obeying. His breathing was ragged against her skin.

“You will tell me if I'm too rough.”

It wasn't a request, she could tell. She shivered at the sound of his growl.

“I promise.” she sighed, her whole body deliciously aching from the moment she heard him open his belt, zip down his fly, to the moment when he placed himself between her legs. “Yes.”

He penetrated her without warning, not stopping until he was all in, but slowly, gently, and Sansa sweared she'd have melt if he hadn't been holding on to her so tightly – she let out a heavy sigh, her knuckles white on the counter. His hands were on her hips, pinning her down, balancing her against his harsh thrusts, and her toes curled with pleasure. One hand in his hair, the other looking for something to lean against – the frame behind her hurt her back, and she wanted to be against Oberyn anyway -, Sansa came quickly, too quickly, moaning her husband's name as she did, making him smirk on her shoulder. He kept moving, although he took a step back to watch her come down from her orgasm, all limp and smily and shivering – she looked at him under half-closed lids, breathing with her mouth open, until she regained some control over her movements. She straightened herself, grabbed Oberyn by the shirt to pull herself to him, positionned her mouth next to his ear.

“I love you, husband.” she whispered. “You, and your mouth, and your hands, and your cock.”

She smiled, finding great pleasure in the fact that he was now the one who had to hold on to the dresser to stand up right, to keep going. She was squeezing her thighs, moving her hips against him as much as she could despite their position. She kissed his jaw down to his shoulder, biting gently into the soft flesh as she went, trying to ignore her own rising pleasure to listen to his.

Oberyn's moans and groans and sighs were sounds of beauty, and they made her shiver in delight; she would try to coax any of them out of him every time she could, smiling as she did so.

“It turns me on so much when you take me like this,” she breathed, trying to keep her voice steady, but betrayed by her body's reactions to his hard thrusts. “all caveman in heat.”

He grunted, leaning his head backwards, while Sansa's palms came to rest on his butt; she accompanied every movement he made with a push of her own.

“I'm going to come, again.” she warned before she burst, the sound and feel of it pushing her husband to finish with her in a long groan.

They were silent for a while after that, trying to regain control of their breathing, holding on to each other to stop themselves from falling.

“You have a potty mouth.” Oberyn finally breathed, grinning.

“You destroyed my panties.” she accused, echoing his smile with her own.

“And I don't regret that for a second.”

 

* * *

 

 

They made it to the gala almost a half-hour late – Oberyn had insisted in fucking her again in the shower, which had prompted the need for another shower – while the party was in full swing.

Sansa, who, up until now, had forgotten to be nervous, now felt nauseated and weak-legged. Still, she smiled to the many people who came to introduce themselves, conversed with the guests, checked with doctor Colemon that everything was running smoothly, and expertly charmed some potential donors. Her husband was never far, a hand delicately placed on her back, more or less high depending on who she was talking to.

Since they had regularly started to go out as a married couple into society – an idea that Oberyn still fought everytime Sansa brought it up – she had noticed in her husband three distinct patterns when she would be talking to anybody else but him while he was next to her : number one was when she was politely chatting with a group of people – he would hover if he was interested, leave if he was not; number two was when she would speak with someone one on one, but still in a detached way – and he would stand next to her, either participating or not; while pattern number three was her favourite, or at least and by far the one that amused her the most, and that occurred when she was actively trying to charm someone, just as she was now – when that happened, he always touched her, never aggressively, and he never butted in if he wasn't invited; in fact, he may even be talking to somebody else at the time, but he would always make sure Sansa's interlocutor could see that his hand was on her, a sign that she was already spoken for. (She adored being spoken for.)

She would play with it without shame, knowing that Oberyn would keep his cool and composure throughout the evening, but that he would jump on her the minute he had the chance, if only to kiss her senseless. She had realized early that Oberyn was a very jealous and posessive man – he had come very close to punching a man for heavily hitting on her once, in the beginning of their relationship - but she had made it clear to him that she would not allow him to dictate who she was allowed to speak to, what she was allowed to wear in public, or anything else that she and only she could dictate for herself. He had begrudgingly agreed, but not before he had reminded her that she was _his_ wife, and only his.

She would always check herself before going too far, though, careful not to play with her husband's feelings; and she would always make sure he knew where her heart was, and for whom her legs only opened – and every time she would play, after everyone one was gone and it was just the two of them in bed, almost asleep, he'd request, in a small voice, most often when she could not look at him, “Tell me you love me.”, she would smile and obey.

In similar fashion, Oberyn had realized that there were a few people that Sansa dreaded talking to, knowing that they would only bring up the same boring topics over and over again, with the same words as they always did, and when she teased him a little too much, she was sure to find one of these people before her at one point during the evening.

“I hate you.” she'd grumble as soon as she was next to him again.

“Liar.” he'd chuckle, and kiss the top of her head.

So when she found Tanda Stokeworth opposite her a few minutes after her last conversation that night, after she had charmed a sizeable donation out of a wealthy man, she was not particularly surprised. She discreetly hit her husband's arm, who was barely able to stop himself from laughing.

“Please, excuse me.” he slightly bowed towards the elderly woman, leaving her and Sansa alone, a small smile devouring his face.

 

“I hate you.” Sansa told him about fifteen minutes later, after she had been able to fend off the woman.

“Liar.” Oberyn smirked, and kissed the top of her head.

 

* * *

 

 

It wasn't long until doctor Colemon came looking for her.

“You're on in ten minutes.” she stated, turning Sansa back into a puddle of nerves.

She had been talking with Doran, who had arrived to King's Landing the day before, about the green initiative he was planning to bring to Martell Enterprises. Oberyn had been stolen a few minutes prior by a colleague and direct competitor in some markets, and had left them alone, looking blissful at the idea that they were getting along.

Truthfully, Sansa didn't know yet what to make of Doran. They had already spoken before, especially on the phone and about Oberyn, but there was something behind his eyes that she found quite intimidating, almost scary. She did, however, want to make an effort to get to know him, if only for her husband.

“Well then,” Doran smiled, “I'll let you get ready for your adorating audience.”

Sansa half-snorted. “I'm not sure how adorating they'll be once I finish speaking.”

“Are you kidding ? You're giving them a scandal !” Doran gestured around. “And they will love you for it, even when they talk smack about you.”

“Speaking from experience ?” She lifted an eyebrow.

“I may not look like much in this wheelchair, Sansa, but trust me when I say the ladies love me.”

Sansa laughed out loud.

“Even more when it's inappropriate.” he winked, then, after a last smile, left Sansa to herself.

Taking a deep breath, she watched as the staff gently pushed the people to their chair, herself being pushed to the podium.

She was introduced by the good doctor, who, after explaining why they were here, and why she was organizing such a get together, called her by both her names, Martell and Stark, and gestured for her to come up. Her hands were shaking, and she could picture without looking how tense Oberyn's jaw was.

Everything felt different once she was up there.

The room was warm. Too warm. Sansa felt lightheaded, the lights were blinking in her eyes. She tried to take a deep breath.

“Good evening.” she managed to say, before her throat closed.

She took a sharp breath through her nose, clinging to the podium for support. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Oberyn starting to get up, dr. Colemon stopping him with a hand. She was trembling. She regretted everything.

“I'm, uh-”

What was she supposed to say ? She looked down at the cards placed before her, but she couldn't read anything, the words were jambled. Blurry.

“Uh.”

Her heart was thudding, she cleared her throat, took a sip from her water bottle.

“I'm sorry.” she shook her head. “This is much harder than I thought it would be.”

There were a few laughs in the audience, and she smiled vaguely before closing her eyes, and counted to ten. Shaking her head one more time, Sansa glanced at Oberyn, who still looked nervous and ready to swoop in and rescue her, and at the doctor, who was nodding in encouragment.

“My name is Sansa Martell-Stark.” she began, still looking at her doctor. “And I'm here today to talk to you about my experience.”

She took another deep breath, focusing on the audience.

“For some of you here tonight, the name Stark is synonymous with treason, with shame, with failure. But it was not always so – I grew up in a honourable home. Strict, yes, but honest. Straight. We, Starks, told the truth. And we Starks have gone instinct because we had told the truth, an embarassing truth. My father, my mother - stamped traitors. Whistleblowers. And they have died for their trouble. My brothers and sisters have vanished, and to this day I do not know whether they are alive or dead.”

Her fingers formed a fist as anger once again rose inside of her.

“But I survived. And for five long years, that all I did. Survive.” She licked her lips. “Against my will, just because I was born a Stark, I was cast as both the victim and the villain. The victim, because I was pretty, because I was the Prince's favourite, because I was a child. A villain, because I showed no will for true redemption. Because I refused to bow down, and apologize, and take the punishment. But no more. Today, tonight, I'm adding something to the list. One name, to know me by. I was a victim; I was a villain; and now I'm a victor.”

A murmur passed through the crowd, but Sansa paid it no heed. She was launched, and would not stop until she had crossed the finish line.

“Now, you are all probably wondering, “I thought this was a charity dinner to fight against violence against women”, and you are right. And all of these words, this preamble, come down to this : I am done being silent.”

Sansa took a deep, long breath. _Everything was about to change,_ she thought _._ She glanced at Oberyn again, who was now still, his jaw shut and tight, fiery and animated.

“I was raped. Somebody raped me.” Her heart was thudding, she couldn't believe she'd said it out loud. In the crowd, there was a cry, doctor Colemon was frowning, there were flashes and the sound of pen being frantically pushed on paper. “And it wasn't some dark alley in the dark of the night. I wasn't somewhere society thinks of as dangerous. It wasn't a stranger who had a knife on me. I wasn't dressed provocatively, I wans't drunk, I wasn't 'asking for it'. I was raped, repeatedly, for two years, by someone I thought I could trust. By someone I had been told was my duty to love, and serve, and cherish.”

She swallowed, looking down for a split second before starting again.

“At first, I thought it was normal. I thought it was how the world operated. I didn't complain, because I thought that was how it was. I didn't say no, even though I clearly did not want to, because I thought I owed him. I didn't fight, I didn't scream, I didn't cry, I didn't struggle. I laid there, and I took it. I took the pain, and the shame, and the doubt, because I thought he had every right to do this to me. I didn't complain. And I certainly didn't say.”

“I was fourteen years old, when it started. I was a child. I didn't even know what sex was until it was demanded of me. I didn't know what a period was until I started bleeding. I was forced to do things I found repulsive, and when I refused – which was very, very rare – I was slapped. I was thrown against walls. I was taken by the hair and dragged by force to the bed. I was grabbed, and pushed, and pried open. And I said nothing.”

“My mother-” Sansa pushed back a sob thinking of her, “ My mother learnt of it when she was forced to take me to the emergency room one night. There was a lot of blood, a lot of pain, and a lot of contusions, bruises, broken ribs. And a baby, dead.”

“And she said nothing. She bribed the medical personnel, took me home. As I cried, begging for her not to say anything to my father, to anyone, begging for her to forgive me, she tucked me into bed and looked at me. 'You will never see him again,' she told me. 'He will never again lay a finger on you.'”

“She stayed with me the whole night as I cried, and cried, and in the morning she told my father. A week later, they released thousands of incriminating documents implicating various members of government as well as our royal family in various crimes, frauds, scams, and scandals. A week after that, they were dead, and I was thrown to the streets.”

“And for a long time, it felt like I would never get out of them. But I have gotten up.” she sighed. “I have met someone who, not only is kind, but cares about my safety. About my well-being. I have met, and married, a man who does not push me around, who does not takes what I am not willing to give, who shows me everyday that what has happened to me was not normal. I have opened my eyes. And tonight, I'm sharing my story, in the hopes that it reaches the people who need it the most.”

“If you do not want to have sex, if you do not consent, explicitely, then **it is rape**. It does not matter the gender, it does not matter the sex. It is rape, and rape is punishable by law.”

“Doctor Colemon's project here, and the goal of tonight's gala is funding. With your help, we will open free clinics for women and children, for victims of rape, of sexual assault,  of physical or emotional abuse, all over the city and this country, where you will be able to see a doctor, get prescriptions, financial aid, as well as seeing a therapist or a lawyer.”

“So please, before leaving tonight, think about donating. Even a few dragons would help.”

“The last thing I will leave you with, is this : parents, talk to your children. Teach them about sex, safe and consentual sex. Tell them about contraception, about their reproductive cycles, about puberty, hormones, and desire. Open a discussion with them, create a safe space for them to talk about this. Because without conversation, communication, stories like mine will only continue to spread.”

“Violence against women will not stop unless we start to educate our children, all of our children, boys, girls, non-binary children, trans children. It will not stop unless we educate ourselves. Our husbands, our wives, our parents, our families and our friends. Stop making sex a taboo. A crass thing. Teach sex ed in health classes. Make contraception affordable. Educate your children about consent. Don't let anyone tell you what to do with your body, especially when it comes to sex, health, safety. Don't let anyone make this decision for you. Thank you.”

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

As soon as she finished speaking, Sansa nodded to the audience, smiled meakly and left the podium hastily, in hopes of leaving the room quietly and before anyone could stop her. She wasn't sure she'd be able to make conversation at the moment, or to answer any questions. She was absolutely unaware of the roar of questions she was leaving behind, unaware of the noise everyone was making, unaware that, not even a minute after she had done speaking, all the major media outlet were already preparing reports of her speech and spreading videos and pictures of the event. All that she knew was that she needed a way out, some time to herself to avoid sharing her already rising panic attack with the whole crowd.

 _She couldn't believe she'd just done that._ What was wrong with her ?

She was barely back on her feet, she had everything going for her, Joffrey, the queen and their whole family had probably forgotten all about her and what does _she_ do ? She puts herself right back on the map, just on the edge of problematic town – what an idiot.

She could barely see where she was going, her vision was blurry, her ears were buzzing, her heart was pounding. Something inside of her was squeezing, preventing her from breathing correctly, and all she could do was twist her hands together, try to keep her face calm and her raging emotions under control. She felt like she was underwater, trying to come up for air and failing – she just couldn't believe what she had just done.

People were trying to stop her, trying to get her to answer their questions; some wanted to congratulate her, some wanted to accuse her – but everything came out jumbled to her.

“If I could have my wife for a few moments, please.”

Sansa turned her head to see Oberyn standing next to her, smiling politely, his hand already on her back, guiding her away without waiting for permission. He led her gently to an adjoining room filled wih broken decorations and stacks of chairs, and Sansa closed her eyes, already choking back sobs and tears as soon as the door closed behind them. Oberyn leaped to her, sheltering her between his arm, holding her tight.

“Shh-” he coaxed. “You're okay. I'm here. I won't let anybody hurt you.”

_She couldn't believe she'd just done that. Why has she just done that ?_

She sobbed into his chest, holding onto his jacket just to make sure that he was here, that he was real, struggling to stay standing when her entire legs were wobbly. She sobbed, and cried, and sniffled in relative silence, while Oberyn stroked her back, his chest against her cheek and his lips on her head.

Her thoughts were screaming.

 _What had she done ? She couldn't believe she just did that._ They came at her all too quickly, leaving her fighting for breath, her heart panicking. Everything felt too loud, too warm, scrambled together, squeezing her airway and her veins – she began to gasp, her fingers hammering in on Oberyn's chest, trying to stay afloat when everything around her started to crumble.

She heard Oberyn's pulse quicken.

“You're okay, baby.”

His voice was strained, too. He was hard against her, and not in a good way – she squeezed her eyes shut even more. He was pushing her fingers aside, why, why, why was she clinging, why couldn't she breathe ? Her thoughts went mad, bumping inside her brain, and suddenly his hands were on her face, shaking her gently.

“Open your eyes.”

She tried to push him away. She didn't want to, he couldn't force her -

“Open your eyes.” he repeated, a little more forcefully.

There were too many tears, she didn't want to see.

“Sansa, please.”

She batted them open, still fighting against his strong grip. He appeared before her, eyebrows melted together in worry, his eyes as dark as she had even known them, so close to her face.

“Look at me.”

She obeyed, focusing on the irises in his eyes.

“I'm here, little wife. Look at me.”

She nodded silently.

His voice was softer, and she tried to breathe in time with him. She watched the small lights dance in his eyes, her fingers around his wrists, his pulse echoing through her limbs, the adoned apparent tranquility shattering with every beat of his heart. She was scaring him, she realized, and suddenly it was all she could see. She needed to relax.

It took her a few minutes to calm down, staring at her husband's face, taking back control over her brain.

“I'm sorry.” she finally managed to say.

Oberyn let out a small sigh of relief.

“Don't.” he shook his head.

“I didn't mean to -”

“Don't.” he repeated, a little more forceful.

With his fingers, he dried her tears, straightened her hair and her dress. He still looked tense, though, fussing over her with his jaw clenched.

“Do you want to go home ?”

She shook her head.

“We knew this would be difficult.” she whispered, with a hoarse voice. “And I want to go through with it anyway.”

Oberyn sighed. “I wish you'd let me take you away from all of this. Spend the rest of our days in the sun, just the two of us.”

Sansa's giggles came out wet, and she sniffed. “We'll be bored out of our minds.”

“I have a few ideas of what we could do.” he lifted an eyebrow, making Sansa giggle harder.

“All day, every day ?”

“I love a challenge.”

“This isn't a challenge, this is death by orgasm.” she smiled.

“Oh, well. Not a bad way to go, is it ?”

Sansa playfully rolled her eyes.

“Or, if that doesn't suit your fancy, and frankly _I_ doesn't understand why it wouldn't,” -Sansa rolled her eyes again - “we could pack our bags and travel the world. Town by town.”

“Now there's an idea.” Sansa whispered, a small smile invading her lips.

Oberyn grinned. “You know where to find me.”

Sansa took a deep breath, taking a step away from her husband. In a quick motion, she hid, as much as she could, the marks of her meltdown on her face – it was time to go back out there.

“How bad is it ?” she asked Oberyn.

Gently, he wiped her cheeks and under her eyes with his fingers.

“Your eyes are red.” he told her.

Sighing, Sansa shook her head, took a deep breath, and smiled at her husband, who still stood very close to her, not knowing whether to get closer or let her go.

“I'll be fine.” she stated, trying to reassure him. (It didn't work.)

She kissed him quickly.

“Thank you for being here for me.” she whispered.

He shrugged. “It was nothing.”

“It was everything.”

With a last smile and a last hug, Sansa smoothed down her dress and inhaled sharply, then walked out the door, head high, back to the gala.

 

* * *

 

The rest of the night passed quickly, as Sansa was assailed by nosy questions and rude remarks – although she was certain none of them had been meant harshly, but rather the guests just said what came to mind without thinking first -. Some guests, though, were surprisingly supportive and sensitive, and in the end, Doctor Colemon had collected enough money to open up her first free clinic for women. She had, of course, almost immediately left the room to start working on the plans, leaving her guests to fend for themselves for the rest of the night.

Oberyn stood by Sansa side without fail during the evening, refusing to let her out of sight and earshot, despite the fact that there were people trying to talk to him, and him alone. Doran stayed by her side, too, although more charming and less shaky, less curt than his brother, and he deflected with good-humour many of the hurtful questions and remarks Sansa was getting. They were Team Sansa, he joked, earning an earnest smile from his younger brother, his first genuine smile since they had walked into the room a few hours ago. 

 

* * *

 

The next morning, about a half hour after Oberyn had left – late, as he didn't want to, and kept clinging to his wife – Sansa found herself in the kitchen with Arielle, their Dornish housekeeper, learning out to make her special recipe for sourdough flatbread. She was elbow deep in flour, and her dough looked nothing like Arielle's, but she was excited, and they were happily talking about Arielle's cooking background and expertise – Sansa felt much better after a night's sleep, although she hadn't, in truth, slept much. Oberyn kept crushing her between his arms, waking her up, her body begging for coolness, her foggy mind begging for rest.

It was only half past eight – well, almost – on a Saturday morning, and Sansa had made up her mind to not check the news; not on tv, not on the internet, not on her phone, not on any newspaper. Contrary to Oberyn or Doran, she had that luxury, and she planned to use it. She didn't know how big the story had gotten (or not) – there were, after all, journalists in the audience yesterday; it was unlikely they would have let it pass without writing about it -, nor did she want to know. All that mattered was that she had done her duty, she had helped Doctor Colemon. She had played her part.

“You're ruining the dough.” Arielle gently admonished Sansa.

“I'm sorry.” the Northerner winced.

“You're not focused. That's the problem.”

Sansa sighed. “Sorry.” she repeated.

Shaking her head, Arielle took the mixing bowl away from her, and went to work. Half amused, half disappointed, Sansa cleaned her hands, then set out to do the dishes. The two women were back to back, but Sansa heard Arielle's next words as clear as a bell.

“It was a brave thing you did.” she stated, after a small silence, in a low voice. “Very hard, very brave thing.”

Considering it, Sansa whispered. “You don't think I made a mistake, putting Oberyn in the limelight like this ?”

“It is never a mistake to tell the truth, miss Sansa. Hard, but never a mistake.”

After a small pause, the Housekeeper sighed, then laughed.

“Besides, it is not as if your husband had not been under the limelight before, and for things much less heroic.”

Sansa was about to reply when the doorbell rang. Cleaning her hands in her apron, Arielle went to answer it as the younger woman dried her hands. _Who could it be at this hour ?_ she wondered, checking the clock and frowning. She had not been expecting anyone. Arielle soon came back with a piece of paper.

“There you go, miss.” she handed it over. Before Sansa could take it, though, she warned her. “It's from the palace.”

Swallowing hard, Sansagrabbed the piece of paper. Heart pounding, she read its content.

“Is the messenger still here ?”

“Yes, miss.”

Inhaling sharply, Sansa nodded. “All right.”

Summoning all of her diplomacy, her calm and good manners, Sansa wrote her response on some of Oberyn's stationery.

“Give this to him,” she said, stuffing the paper into an envelope. “ And call Doran. Don't breathe a word of this to Oberyn, and please, make sure Doran does the same.”

“Yes, miss Sansa.”

“Thank you.”

Now alone with the missive, Sansa looked at it again.

It was short, to the point, and curt.

**'The Royal Family requests your presence at court at once.'**

Sansa's fingers closed around the paper, crumpling it involuntarily. She exhaled, long and hard, closing her eyes. She had been a fool to think Cersei and her family wouldn't call her to them – Oberyn had warned her. He had tried, at least, but she had been too headstrong to listen. She hadn't always been this way, she thought, memories twirling inside her brain. Once upon a time, she had been the obedient one, always listening, always obeying. Arya had been the stubborn one, the strong one. The independent one.

A tear fell down her cheek as she thought of her little sister. She quickly wiped it away before Arielle could see it – she, now more than ever, needed to be strong.

She needed to be brave.

 

* * *

 

When Doran arrived about a half hour later, Sansa showed him the missive at once, without any of them speaking, or greeting the other. She gazed out of the window at nothing in particular, listening to the murmurs of it, waiting for a gust of wind to take this feeling of dread looming over the three of them away – a dread she had personally invited to her house.

“Did you reply ?” Doran finally asked.

She nodded quickly. After silence fell and Doran inquired no further, she realized he was waiting for her to talk.

“I told them to fuck off.” She turned around. “Except, you know, politely.”

A grin slowly appeared on Doran's face. “Attagirl.”

But Sansa couldn't bring herself to smile.

“So what now ?”

“Before I answer that, I need you to tell me something.”

Sansa frowned; Doran was looking right at her, giving her nowhere to hide.

“In your message, it said not to tell Oberyn.”

“Yes.” she assented.

“Why ? He's your husband, after all. He should be here, shouldn't he ?”

His question was simple enough, but Sansa had recognized in his eyes the same glimmer as his brother had whenever he was extremely serious. She felt, clearly, that her answer could change their relationships drastically, and that Doran was waiting to call her out on it.

“I felt that the situation called for, uh, diplomacy. And, as much as I love Oberyn, I can't say he has much of it in him. He's the man you call when you want to storm the castle-”

“But I'm the man you call when you want to poison the king.” Doran finished.

“This needs finesse.” she agreed, to which Doran smiled.

Looking down at the missive again, he read it a second time before crumpling it up and putting it away.

“There are two possibilities” he started, his tone serious, his brow furrowed, pensive, “– one, the queen, or her father, call on you again. But this time, you won't have the luxury to say no. Two, and this is the option we're hoping for here, she comes to you.”

“So we wait.”

“So we wait.” he assented. “We have tea, and biscuits, and whatever else we can come up with fast, waiting for them. The Lannisters aren't patient – we won't have to wait long.”

Sansa nodded, and started to make her way to the kitchen, before Doran stopped her.

“You, my dear sister, need to go change.”

Sansa glanced towards her faded jeans and blue t-shirt, relics of a time before Oberyn.

“Wear something … _queenly_.” he smiled, though not in good humour.

“You mean something sexy and alluring, which the queen often mistake for powerful ?”

“You read my mind. Go, I'll make sure everything else is ready.”

This time, his smile was genuine.

Making her way towards the staricase, Sansa suppressed a shiver. More and more, she was coming to realize that you didn't mess with Doran Martell; Oberyn was frightening, yes, angry and powerful and ready to fight at any time – but his brother was terrifying. She had a sense that you never saw him coming, but only felt the bite and the poison, never knowing where it had come from.

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a short one, but I promise there's more on the way !   
> Hope you like it !

After half an hour, the room was so silent that you could hear the clock ticking – Sansa tried to ignore it at first, but ignoring it meant thinking about something else, and the only thing she could think about was how much she wanted Oberyn to be there.

But even Doran had agreed, her husband was not a man you bring in for negociations; he was the man you brought when you wanted to tear the whole damned thing apart. And so she focused on the clock, and listened to it tick, tick, tick. Until finally, the door opened with a crash. Sansa jumped on her seat, then did her best to hide it quickly, as she and her brother-in-law would be the first thing these intruders would see, and it was important they found them calm and collected.

Arielle was in the midst of bringing them fresh tea, and she nonchalantly glanced up to watch five royal guards come into the room.

“You appear to have visitors, miss Sansa.” she stated in a polite, calm tone.

“Yes, it would seem so.” Sansa assented. “Tea, gentlemen ?”

As no answer reached her, the Northern girl could swear she felt the Queen before she saw her. A shiver went up her spine, which she hid by straightening up.

“Your Highness.” she nodded, as though nothing was more normal than having Cersei Baratheon in her living room.

She prayed to every God she knew that her hand would not tremble, that her voice would not falter.

“We were hoping you would join us. Would you like some tea ?”

The look Cersei shot in her direction would have send her scurring to her bedroom a few years ago – Hells, who was she kidding; she'd be running for the hills if she hadn't Arielle and Doran by her side – and again, Sansa found herself praying for strength.

Doran greeted her, bid her to sit down and join them, as Arielle went to close the door behind them.

“How dare you ?” Cersei asked, in a very low, menacing voice, ignoring anything, and anyone, else.

Sansa knew she was treading on very thin ice. Keeping in mind that there were five heavily armed men behind the queen, and unsure of how far the Queen's anger would take her – she vividly remembered the slaps she could get from her at any time -, she decided to stay safe; she decided to keep silent, but refused to look away.

Her heart was pounding, her ears were ringing, and her whole body ached to run away, but Sansa stood her ground, decided to stay civil.

“My son, my family, have been nothing but kind to you. Generous.” Cersei kept going, in the same tone, although louder. “We have given you the world on a silver platter. I have trained you to be queen !”

“You have trained me to be scared.” Sansa whispered, eyes locked in the Queen's glare. She had many words for how she and her family had been treated by the Lannisters, but kindly and generously were not anywhere on the list. “And honestly ? You frighten me still. Even here, in my own home, as I am a grown woman, my first instinct is hide, to pray I escape your wrath.”

Pushed by a sudden impulse she knew she would regret later, Sansa put down her cup of tea – out of the corner of her eye, she saw Doran hide a smile – and stood up to face the Queen, her hands linked together.

“No more.”

Cersei's jaw clenched, and Sansa recognized the flicker in her eyes before she felt the sting of a palm against her cheek. A moment passed in total silence, following the hit.

“You have gone too far this time, your Grace.”

To Sansa, the bite of Doran's voice was harsher than any blow could be.

“I'm afraid I will have to ask you and your goons to leave this house.”

“And how are you going to make us, cripple ?” Cersei turned to him.

“He won't have to, your Grace.” Sansa replied. “You will leave on your own terms.”

This time, Sansa knew the blow was coming, but she took it anyway. She knew Cersei would push her luck, knew she could not stop herself from showing off who she thought was boss, knew she would want to dominate her.

But no more.

“I have not mentioned your son's name.” Sansa stated, in her calmest, nicest voice, as she slowly turned her head back to face the queen. She hoped no one would notice how she was twisting her fingers. “Nor yours, nor your family's. If they are in the press, they are there only in speculation – and I had promised myself I would not say anything. But that's twice you've struck me today, your Highness. I only have two cheeks to turn – a third time, and I will not be so secretive.”

She lifted her chin, straightening up to be as tall as Cersei.

“Now get out of my home.”

“How dare you threaten me ?” She was almost shouting, now.

“I am only doing what you've taught me, your Grace.”

Taking a deep breath, Sansa sat back down, took her tea cup, and sipped it gently. Without realizing it, she had sat back down to face an empty spot between Doran and the Queen, which, as the Queen herself had told her once, when she had been still, in Sansa's eyes, someone to listen to, someone to admire, one of the most effective way to say, without words, that a guest was no longer welcome. And yet she saw that Cersei still did not move, but kept throwing threats around.

“You have bullied me into submission before, frightened me into believing that I deserved your son's treatment, _your_ treatment, but no more.” Whispering, she shook her head, breathing heavily. “You know very well what he did to me. You know I did not lie. You saw it all, your staff saw it all. And if you're here hoping to scare me into silence … Let me tell you this before you try again: I will not be silenced. Not any more. You may have had my parents killed, and my siblings disposed of, but you will not silence me one minute more. Now get out.”

 

* * *

 

Oberyn couldn't put a finger on exactly how, but he knew, the minute he stepped inside the house, that something was different. Something was wrong.

He glanced around the room for any clues, but everything was clean, tidied up, and in its usual place. Venturing further, he found Sansa – his heart skipped a beat – in the kitchen, looking flushed and embarassed, not quite meeting his eye.

_There_ , he thought as she smiled – fake, he could tell – _this is what's wrong_.

“Hi.”

Her forced cheerfullness only increased his unease. He tried, quietly, to find what exactly made him tick before she noticed, but came up short – then, it fell into place.

“Is Doran here ?”

Of course.

Doran, inexplicably, never failed to make women swoon; he was charming, nobody could deny him that, but he would always get the girl without even expressing any interest, without even having to lift a finger. Oberyn, on the other hand, had always needed to fight to keep a woman interested, had always needed to stay on his toes, just so that she wouldn't go looking towards his brother.

“No. He left a few minutes ago.”

_Was Doran the one who got her this flushed ?_ he wondered as he nodded – _had he not entertained his wife enough to keep her away from his brother ?_

Self doubt was wrecking his mind, and he had to fight, hard, to keep a leveled voice.

“So he was here,” he said. _Please tell me that we're okay_ , he thought.

“Yes. We had lunch,” she answered, still smiling that phoney smile.

Oberyn was a very easily angered man. He knew this. And, when angry, he felt prone to violence, never quite able to restrain himself. He knew that too – but he also knew, without a doubt, that the violence he felt at that precise moment was not born of anger, but of fear.

Terrified, that was how he felt.

He wanted to take that smile off Sansa's face, shake her until she told him exactly what happened.

But this was Sansa he was thinking about. His _wife_. The only woman he has ever felt so strongly about.

Violence was not the answer.

_Communication was the answer_ , she was always telling him.

The only answer he wanted was a straight one.

“Why are you so red ?” he blurted.

“It was a spicy lunch.”

The lie rolled off her tongue, and felt like it was stabbing him in the chest.

She was red, she couldn't meet his eye.

In that moment, he hated himself. For not being able to satisfy her. For not being there enough. For all the times he had lied to her, pushed her away, tried to keep her at bay. And he hated himself for his terror, for his love, for his inhability to see it coming.

_This was what you wanted, wasn't it ?_ A small voice asked him. _You pushed far enough to have her fall into Doran's arms._

“Doran made me try some of your Dornish cuisine, and it couldn't take it.” she chuckled - fake, too.

More lies. She was so easy to see through, sometimes.

But this was the one woman he had ever felt this way about. She was his wife, his one chance at ever being romantically happy.

He couldn't just let her go.

He had to fight.

“How was your morning ?” she asked.

_Who cares ?_ he screamed inside his own head.

For all his shortcomings beside Doran, Oberyn knew he had one advantage. It was dirty, but, at this point, he was willing to take anything.

He had to remind her just how good he could be. How good he could _feel._

She had to come back to him.

She had to. 

 

* * *

 

Sansa had barely finished cleaning up the lunch table when Oberyn opened the door and called out for her. Startled, not expecting him, she looked up sharply into the closest mirror she could find. Her cheek was still red, though, and so she desperately pinched the other one up in an effort to have them match .

Her breath was short as she turned around to greet Oberyn, who eyed her suspeciously, but said nothing.

“Hi.” she smiled, smoothing down her dress.

Without responding, Oberyn let his gaze wonder up and down her person, frowning slightly.

“Is Doran here ?” he finally asked.

“No. He left a few minutes ago.”

He nodded absently before stating : “So he was here.”

“Yes. We had lunch.”

Sansa's heart was beating quite hard, symptom of her reluctance to lie to her own husband – she hated having to hide this from him, but there was no way she'd let him hurt himself or his business to get back at the Lannister. Besides, who knew how mad he'd get if she told him about the slaps … No, it was better to lie.

She hated lying.

“Why are you so red ?” he pushed.

“It was a spicy lunch.”

She was fumbling, she knew it, and she knew that he could see it. This was _not_ going according to plan.

“Doran made me try some of your Dornish cuisine, and it couldn't take it.”

Where was she getting this ? She'd always been told that she wasn't a good liar, and she really wasn't – why was she pushing this ? She tried to steer the conversation away.

“How was your morning ?”

Her husband was standing so still, so stiffly, opposite her, that she jumped when he took a leap forward and grabbed her by the hips so roughly that she yelped. She was soon silenced, though, by his lips crushing hers, and she was trapped between his chest and his hands. Desire flushed through her almost instantly – Oberyn always had that effect on her – and left her paralyzed, at the mercy of her own lust, and she pushed back against him with as much vigor as he did.

But something kept her from totally letting go.

After all, she had just been lying to her husband – badly lying – and he was bound to have picked up on it.

_This was not the time to have sex_ , she thought as his fingers were already up in her knickers, although she really, really wanted to. Using all her might, all her reason, she pulled away from his kiss and tried to thrust him away with both her palms on his chest.

“Stop.” she breathed.

“Please don't make me.” His voice was small. 

There was something in his eyes, something scared, something pained. Sansa's heart leaped in her chest, leaving to wonder exactly what kind of a monster she was. All she wanted was to tell him the truth – but what then ? If she told him what the queen had done, she knew his anger would get the best of him, she knew he would try to get back at her, forgetting decency, forgetting self-preservation. She couldn't.

“We can't do this.” she shook her head.

Relunctantly, her husband pushed his hands away from her hips, and back away as he raised them up.

“You won't talk to me.” Oberyn stated, his jaw clenched and his whole body tense. “You won't have sex with me. Tell me then, what exactly am I good for, beside the money and the security ?”

“That's not fair.”

The cheap shot left her teary-eyed, and she pulled down her dress, looking away. She didn't want him to see her cry.

“You're not being fair anyway.”

As she looked back up, she saw that he had turned around, and was walking away.

“Oberyn !” she called after him, freezed into place.

“I have to go back to work.” he said, in a weirdly mechanical voice. “I'll see you later, when we've both calmed down. Okay ?”

Without waiting for a response, he closed the door behind him, leaving Sansa to start crying earnestly in the middle of her kitchen.

 

* * *

 

Oberyn vividly remembered the first time he'd been angry.

He had been six, and, as a brotherly prank, Doran had replaced the sugar Oberyn would put on his grapefruit by salt. Enraged, he had hit his brother so hard that he had broken one of his arms. Of course, this did not stop Doran from further pranks – to this day, Oberyn was reluctant to accept food from him.

He could also remember the first time he had been so mad that his vision became blurry : he had been fourteen, and some asshole had been bullying Elia into dating him – he hadn't broken an arm this time, but a nose and some teeth, and had had to change schools. (They all did, all three of them.)

Over the course of his life, he had been often annoyed, furious more times that he could count, and he had broken many more things, bones and furniture, over many disputes.

And yet, Oberyn couldn't recall for the life of him being this infuriated, this frustrated. This scared.

Sansa had lied to him. And she wouldn't lie to him unless she was trying to protect him srom something, she just wouldn't.

She was hiding something.

Something big.

Something that made his head explode and his heart hurt.

“What are you doing here ?”

Doran rolled into the office, frowning, his lap overflowing with paper.

“I'm working.” Oberyn answered, looking back down to his desk.

Quickly, he pushed any thoughts of his wife away. He couldn't afford to lose it, not here, not now. And looking at Doran would only make him picture Sansa's face as she came, Sansa's face as she lied, Sansa's face – no ! He cleared his throat. He would _not_ lose it here.

“I thought you went home.” his brother continued.

“I did, and now I'm working.”

Pretending to work was more like it, though. His fingers were shaking everytime he picked up a pen.

Doran kept quiet a long time, making Oberyn nervous as well as angry and scared shitless.

“She told you, then.”

Taking a deep, frustrated breath, Oberyn finally looked up at his brother. Perhaps, if he said nothing, Doran would fill in the blanks.

Instead, he only smiled.

“Ah. She _didn't_ tell you.”

Oberyn clenched his jaw, the memory fresh and alive. _He couldn't lose it here_.

“I don't know which would piss you off worst.”

“You tell me, then, and we'll see.”

Doran laughed. “Not a chance, dear brother.”

“But there _is_ something she isn't telling me. Something you know, and I don't get to.”

“Yes.”

Oberyn sighed, getting up. Turning away from Doran, he slipped his hands into his pockets to hide the fists he couldn't stop from forming, and pretended to look at the view. Instead, the only thing he could see was his wife, looking like she was about to cry.

“You know, Doran, screwing my girlfriends was one thing. They were inconsequential. They were fleeting. But she is my wife. That's a whole other thing.”

“Is this your way of asking if I screwed your wife ?”

“Actually, I'm not sure I want to know.” Oberyn answered after a pause.

He heard, before he could see, Doran roll up next to him. He refused to look at him, knowing exactly what face Doran was making, knowing exactly how enraged it would make him feel.

_I'm sorry_ , his older brother would say when Oberyn would confront him, _but she asked and you weren't here. You should thank me, at least you're free. She wasn't really into you_.

Or something like that.

The point was that, good or bad, Doran had never once been anything but painfully honest.

So when Doran said, instead : “I din't screw her.”, Oberyn was so shocked that he threw a look of pure confusion towards his brother.

“Honestly,” Doran went on, “I'm not even sure she realized I have a cock.”

He was chuckling, but Oberyn only frowned, puzzled.

_If this wasn't it, then what was it ?_

“The only problem with your adoring wife is that she has realized that you are not perfect. And that she is a terrible liar, although I can forgive her for that.”

“But you can't forgive her for realizing that I have flaws ?”

Doran grinned.

“My point is, dear brother, is that I don't think you'll ever have to worry about your wife walking out on you.”

Taking a deep breath, Oberyn looked back at the skyline enfolding before him.

“What happened, then ? What did you do ?”

“Why do you assume _I_ did something ?”

With a glance, Oberyn warned his brother. Enough was enough. He needed answers.

“Fine. But she made me promise not to tell, so the only thing _I_ did was respect her decision. And now I'm telling you to go back home, talk to her, and then make up. Preferably with something up her cun-”

“Hey!” Oberyn exclaimed before Doran could finish her sentence.

“What ?” He was amused, the bastard. “I'm only advising you to give her what you promised before you can screw it up further.”

“You're not helping.”

“I know. It's hilarious.”

 

 


	12. Chapter 12

After she'd brushed her tears away and finally started to move, Sansa tried to distract herself with everything that she could put her hands on. She tried reading, cooking, baking, cleaning, tidying, and even knitting before she faced the truth and realized that she was too distracted to do anything but wait. She tried pacing back and forth in her hallway, around her dining-room table, up and down the stairs; she showered, she changed, she plopped down on her bed and groaned in frustration.

She had never been in a fight before, not with anyone else than Arya, to be more precise; and then fights only meant insulting each other until their nanny or their mom punished them and forced them to apologize to each other.

And, of course, she had never, _ever_ been in a fight with Joffrey; that would have been suicide. She would actively made sure to always agree to whatever he said, always complimenting him as she did so, hoping to never make him mad enough to start shouting. And when he _was_ mad, as he indubitably was at some point or other, she would try to be as transparent as possible, looking at the ground and praying he wouldn't call on her.

Looking back on it, she had never been anything but a doormat.

She sighed, closing her eyes.

She had to tell hOberyn the truth about Cersei. She had to. Didn't she ?

_No !_ She shouldn't. She would have much less to gain by telling the truth.

Oberyn would be furious. Beyond mad. And he would get reckless, and he would endanger not only his company, but himself, too. And that was unacceptable.

_She_ pulled them into this mess.

_She_ would get them out.

She squeezed her eyes shut, concentrated on breathing evenly and slowly, trying to push every thought aside. First, she needed to calm down. She turned to her side, hugging a pillow for comfort. Then, she needed to come up with a plan, one that didn't involve neither Oberyn nor Doran. (She still couldn't believe how upset Oberyn had gotten after hearing his brother was involved.)

_No !_ She thought, again, closing her eyes down tighter, she would not think about that. She'd think about Oberyn coming home, apologizing to him, work on making things better. That was what she needed to focus on right now.

Things would get better, once she'd apologize, and explain why she couldn't tell him. He'd understand. After all, he wasn't an idiot, only protective … And a little bit jealous ? She frowned. She really couldn't believe how he would think she'd like his brother more than she loved him. It was very clear to Sansa that Oberyn was the superior brother, at least of the experience she had with both of them. Her husband was the kindest, the most generous, the most thoughtful and patient of the two – she had an inkling that with Doran, if you failed once, he wouldn't wait to see you succeed the second time, but would be gone a long time by then.

Yes, Oberyn was without question the best brother, the most attractive, even if you forewent the physical. So why was he so uncertain of himself ?

Shifting in bed, Sansa looked up at the ceiling, sighing deeply. All this waiting around made her uncomfortable; she wanted to talk. She sat up, looking and fumbling around for her phone, cussing and throwing covers and cushions on the floor when she didn't find it. In a matter of minutes, she was barefoot on the carpeted floor, surrounded by pillows and throw covers, the bed completely unmade and the room a total mess.

“Where is it ?” she muttered under her breath, frustrated.

“What are you looking for ?”

Surprized, Sansa yelped shrilly, frozen in place for an instant. On the doorstep, Oberyn chuckled.

“Sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you.”

Shaking her head softly, Sansa breathed out a sigh of relief.

“That's all right. I'm okay.”

“Are you ?” Oberyn took a step forward, taking his jacket off, pointing vaguely toards the mess.

Sansa nodded, smiling faintly. She watched her husband as he moved towards her, waiting eagerly for the moment he would touch her, just so that she could know he was there, that they could work this out. After all, it was just a silly little fight, right ? Couples got them. They worked through them, and so would Sansa and Oberyn. She extended her hands to grab him as soon as he would be close enough, and felt his chest through his shirt as he pushed down on her fingers, going in to kiss her. The moment she was able to, she pulled on his shoulders to get him closer, and they fell onto the mattress, lips linked, with a soft thud and glued to one another.

She could feel him relax against her, moving more freely, as though the mere act of kissing her had a calming effect; she used it to get him to sit down while she straddled him. Gently, she put her forehead to his, gave him a last quick kiss before pulling away. His hands on her back prevented her from moving too far though, and she had to stifle a smile when he sighed.

“Hi,” she whispered.

“Hi.”

The tension may not have been back, but there was still some awkwardness between them, and Sansa knew she had to speak before she'd lose her courage.

“I'm sorry, about earlier.”

“Sansa-” he tried to protest, but Sansa shook her head.

“Just – let me speak, okay ?”

He nodded, staring at her with mixed emotions in his eyes.

“Something _did_ happen, you were right. But I can't talk to you about it, because if I do, all hells would break loose.”

Oberyn frowned, taking a deep breath. “Okay.”

“We've known each other for a little over a year, now, and I admit it might not be much time to truly know someone,but – I feel like I know you. And once you know what happened, you won't be just mad. You'll be … Enraged. Like, volcano Oberyn will erupt.”

He chuckled, and Sansa smiled softly.

“And I want to tell you. Gods, I want to tell you. But I can't.”

Her voice dropped to a whisper.

“Please don't make me.”

“Okay,” he repeated. “I won't. But in return, you have to promise me something.”

She frowned slightly, then nodded.

“Promise me that, if you're in any danger, you'll come to me. No matter what.”

She looked at him, trying to ignore the knot in her stomach. He seemed part hopeful, part sad, and it ached her to think she was the reason why.

“I promise.”

“Good.” He sighed. “Doran made me realize I have been a little crazy, when it came to you.”

“How so ?” She arched an eyebrow.

“Having to know everything you do. Everyone you talk to. Everywhere you go. It's not healthy, for you, _or_ me.”

“Oberyn-”

“No, my turn to talk, now.”

She bit her lip, and he took another deep breath.

“I'm going to stop. Stop asking where you've been, what you did, all of it. I mean, of course I'll ask you, but if you don't want to tell me, for _any_ reason, I won't push, and I won't pry.”

“Your brother made you realize that ?”

“He might be an ass, but he's the smartest person I know.”

They shared a smile, then Sansa sighed and kissed her husband's forehead.

“One last thing before we move on, though.”

He cleared his throat as Sansa frowned again.

“Oh ?” she asked.

“You're not sleeping with my brother, are you ?”

Sansa snickered, and Oberyn had the decency to look away for a second, somewhat ashamed.

“No.” she stated, in a clear voice. “A, I love _you_. B, it took _us_ a while to start sleeping together, and even then, it was rocky at first. I really don't see how I could just jump into bed with someone I barely know and don't trust.” she sighed. “And C, your brother terrifies me. I'm not going anywhere near him naked.”

Oberyn started laughing as he watched his wife protest.

“And D, I can't believe you're asking me that.”

There was no anger in her voice, no tension in her shoulders, but Oberyn took her declaration very seriously.

“I'm sorry. He just has a bad habit of sleeping with my girlfriends.”

“What, all of them ?”

“Yes.”

She was shocked. She knew Doran had a charming side, she saw it in action the other night; but she would never have guessed him to be the man to sleep with his brother's girlfriends. Or the man to betray his brother's trust over and over.

She'd have to be more careful around him from now on, too.

“Well, I'm your wife, so. He won't be sleeping with me.”

“Is that a promise ?” he joked.

“That's a Sansa Stark guarantee. Don't tell him I told you that he scares me, though.”

“That will be our secret.” he smiled.

Smiling back, Sansa enjoyed the moment of silence that followed before inquiring in hushed tones :

“Are we okay ?”

“Yes, little wife.” Oberyn answered with a slow grin appearing on his lips. “We're okay.”

Closing her eyes and leaning forward against her husband, Sansa let out the breath she hadn't been aware she'd been holding. Sliding her arms around her husband's neck, she nuzzled against him happily, and smiled as she felt him hold her tighter, his face hidden in the crook of her neck.

They held the position for a while before separating, smiling sweetly at one another, Oberyn still holding on to her waist.

“Are _you_ okay ?” he inquired, staring straight into her eyes. “It's been a very eventful few days. Very stressful. How are you holding up ?”

She sighed.

“It hasn't been the easiest week of my life, but it certainly hasn't been the worst. This, for example, is nice.”

“Flatterer,” he teased.

She giggled, then inched closer to her husband.

“You know what would be nicer, though ?” she whispered.

Oberyn lifted an eyebrow, his fingers sliding off her waist and on her back, gently pulling at her dress.

“If my husband took off my clothes.”

He chuckled, low, pushing her towards him.

“It'd be my pleasure.”

Her dress came off easily, and fell to the floor behind them, completely forgotten as her husband looked at her. She felt herself blush as he exclaimed softly :

“Gods, you're beautiful.”

“You're only saying that because I'm half-naked and on your lap.”

Laughing, Oberyn softly grabbed her by the hips and laid her down on the bed, trailing kisses down her chest, getting rid of her bra very easily, pushing it of the bed.

“That is just not fair.” she laughed. “Why are you still wearing all your clothes ?”

“My hands are busy.” he answered with a smirk, his fingers sliding off her underwear deftly.

When he was done, Sansa lifted an eyebrow.

“Looks like they aren't anymore.”

“I could find them something to do,” he stated, a mischievous look in his eyes, gently sucking on the skin on her neck.

“Oh, I'm sure you could. But first, they need to do what I'm asking them to.”

Chuckling, Oberyn sat back up, watching her.

“And what is it you're asking them to do ?”

“Take off your clothes, Oberyn,” she stated, with as much authority as she could muster at such a time.

“Yes, little wife.”

His eyes never leaving hers, Oberyn moved off the bed to stand up, then got to work taking off his shirt, revealing his muscled chest and bare arms; as she watched, on her elbows, happily, biting her lips, Sansa could feel her heartbeat accelerate, warmth spreading down her somach and between her legs. Noticing her reaction, her husband smirked as he unbuckled his belt, and opened his pants. He stood there, in his boxers, staring at his wife and smirking at her reaction.

“Anything else I can do for you, Sansa ?”

She swallowed, her eyes moving back up to his.

“I think you know what else you can do.”

She loved this game, she thought, not knowing where she was getting this courage, this brazenness from, but she absolutely loved the result.

“I want to hear you say it.”

Oberyn's deep voice made her shiver, but she was enjoying herself too much to back down, so she got up and moved towards him. As she reached the end of the bed, she sat on its edge, still looking up at her husband.

“Actually,” she grinned, pulling him closer with her palms on the back of his thighs, “I think I'll help myself to what I want.”

Now that he was exactly where she wanted him to be, Sansa slid off the bed and down to the floor, taking his boxer down with her. She heard him gasp as she landed her first kiss on his lower stomach, her fingers slowly making their way up his shaft. Smiling to herself, she admired his erection, her body remembering exactly how good it felt when it moved between her legs.

“That's a mighty fine instrument you got there, husband.” she teased, kissing down to the root of his cock, her touch still incredibly soft, barely even touching the skin.

“I'm glad you enjoy it.” Oberyn answered.

She was certainly glad to hear her husband's breathlessness, straining to keep an even voice. She didn't even care that she was still very new at seducing him, that she was still sometimes struggling to bring him as much pleasure as he gave her; this time, she was going to push his buttons.

“I do,” she smiled, her tongue following a vein up to his tip, where she licked the oozing liquid already forming there. “But there's something I'd enjoy more.”

“Oh, yeah ?” he breathed. “What's that ?”

Glancing up, Sansa smiled as she saw him, eyes closed, appreciating the feel of her touch. If anything, it embolded her even more, and she moved away. Groaning in frustration, he opened his eyes, and immediately found her gaze.

“Sit down.”

He obeyed, and she put her palms on his thighs.

“Tell me what you want me to do.” she whispered, hovering around his lips, keeping just enough distance to keep him from kissing her.

“I thought you were going to do what you wanted.” he smiled.

“This is what I want.” she lifted an eyebrow, palms sliding up slowly to meet around his cock. “I want you to tell me exactly everything you would do, if it were _you_ getting _yourself_ off.”

He shivered, making her smile.

“Who are you and what have you done to my shy little wife ?” he teased.

She giggled. “She's taking the back seat on this one, and your brazen little wife is taking over. Now put your hands on the bed.”

Oberyn obeyed again, and she got off the floor to straddle him, keeping her distance to have as wide a range of motion as she could.

“So tell me,” she smiled, both hands on his thighs, “how would my husband make himself come ?”

They were both looking at the other with a smirk on their lips, breathless, enjoying the show immensely.

“I guess I'd start by picturing you.”

She laughed. “That's a very good start. But let me.”

She watched him swallow as she leaned in, her hands still not moving.

“Close your eyes.” she ordered, continuing as he did so. “Picture this, then : you have to leave your very newly wedded wife, but just before you go, she grabs you and kisses you, her chest agaisnt yours, your hands on her hips – and you can feel how aroused she feels, how much she wants you.”

She was whispering against his ear, her fingers very slowly starting to move.

“And then you find yourself alone on your plane, and she finds herself alone in _your_ bed.” she smiled. “She doesn't really know that this is what she feels, arousal, but she has these dreams of you kissing her, your hands all over her body, and when she wakes, she is soaking wet. Would you like to know what she does ?”

“Yes.” Oberyn answered, breathless, Sansa's fingertips brushing against his skin.

“She doesn't know what's happening to her, but the memory of you clings to her, making her move her hips, the covers between her legs, brushing against the very wet spot on her underwear. Can you see it ?”

“Yes.” he repeated.

“This is what you picture, alone on your plane, your wife riding the covers as she thinks of you. What do you do ?”

“I would grab my cock with my hand.”

Smiling, Sansa obeyed instantly, wrapping her palm around his shaft.

“What then ?”

His breath was short, and his member was very warm against her skin – she smiled as she realized she was doing this to him.

“I would start to move, up and down, very slowly.” his breath hitched as she followed the instruction. “And I would imagine her, what she is doing.”

Sansa smirked. “Would you like me to tell you ?”

“Yes.”

The answer came out almost immediately.

“She is picturing you, actually. What you would do to her if you were there. Would you like to know what that is, what she is fantasizing about ?”

“Yes!” he repeated, moaning as Sansa kept moving her hand. “Rub the tip as you do, please.”

Sansa obeyed her husband eagerly, alternating her movement.

“She is imagining that the blanket between her legs, the one hitting all the right spots, is your hand. She wants your fingers to touch her, to make her moan as she is now, one hand over her breast, wondering why it got so hard, and her body so hot.”

She quickened her fingers, just a little.

“Please don't stop.” her husband begged. “Use your other hand.”

“To do what ?”

“My balls ! Please, massage t-” his breath hitched as she did so, preventing him from finishing his sentence.

“And she is moaning your name.” she smiled, moaning under his ear. “Oberyn !”

A shiver spread through him.

“Faster, please.”

“That's funny,” Sansa smiled as she did as asked, “that's exactly what she's saying next. She is trading the blanket for her hand, turning on her back, spreading her legs. Her fingers move over her underwear, and she is moaning again.”

“Fuck,” he cursed under his breath.

“Her eyes are closed, and she's imagining your hands there, instead of hers,” she continues, caressing with one hand, sliding up and down with the other, “and she's so close, grinding her hips shamelessly, wishing she was grinding against you.”

Sansa could tell by the way Oberyn's face was contorting that he was close, too; she watched him as his figers sank into the mattress and he put his head back, watched as she kept moving, sometimes slower, sometimes faster, curious as it changed her husband's expression.

“She's grinding hard, pushing down against her fingers, moaning your name, over and over, wishing you were here, wishing you were buried inside of her, taking her as only _you_ know how-” Sansa smiled, dropping her voice low, “she wants you to come inside of her, Oberyn.”

“Oh, fuck.” he repeated as he came, grabbing her violently by the hips as he did, sperm hitting them both on the stomach.

She kissed his neck, moving up to his jaw and chin, hovering over his lips as his heart calmed down.

“That was hot,” he joked as he finally was able to say something.

Sansa giggled. “I'm very glad you enjoyed it.”

“You know what I've come to realize ?”

She shook her head as he watched her under half-opened lids.

“Very good things happen every time you're sitting on me.”

Laughing, Sansa kissed him softly.

“I believe it's my turn, now.” he stated, once again turning around to lay her on her back.

“Is it ?”

“Hm-mh.” he assented, gently wiping off her stomach with the bedsheet.

“That's kind of disgusting, Oberyn.”

“Why ?”

“Because we're going to be sleeping in those sheets.” she laughed.

“Trust me, little wife,” he smirked, “the sheets will need changing before we go to sleep.”

Sansa shivered from head to toe.

“Is that a promise ?”

“Oh, yes.”

 

* * *

 

Sansa was slowly emerging back into consciousness after her husband's vigorous, promise keeping sex, to find one of Oberyn's hands resting on her bare stomach, his breath tickling her ear.

“Welcome back to the hand of the living, my love.” he whispered, making her giggle.

“Is it always going to be like this ?” she wondered, out loud.

“What do you mean ?”

“Well ...” she looked for the appropriate words, “you know. Me spacing out big time, leaving you, for all intents and purposes, alone right after sex.”

He chuckled. “I don't mind. Sign of a job well done, really.”

“Job, huh ?” she scoffed, making him laugh again.

“Besides,” he kissed her neck softly, “it gave me time to think.”

“Think about what ?”

“You.”

Sansa smiled despite herself, her cheeks getting slightly warm; suddenly, she was glad he couldn't see her face.

“I'm happy to be on your mind.”

“You're always on my mind.” he stated, quietly, kissing her shoulder.

Sansa put her palm on his hand, reveling in the feel of his warm skin against her back and her side, closing her eyes.

“You scared the crap out of me, today.”

“Oberyn, -”

She tried to move, but Oberyn kept her laying still.

“Let me finish.”

She nodded.

“You scared the crap out of me,” he continued, “but I realised that wasn't your fault. You were trying to protect me, and I overreacted. And I'm sorry about that.”

He took a deep breath as Sansa waited to see if he was done.

“The truth is, apart from my brother and my sister, I have never felt this strongly about anyone. I have never met anyone who stayed when we fought, who stood their ground when I got mad, who challenged me to be the best person I can be – until you.”

What could she answer to that, Sansa wondered, her heart swelling in her chest, biting her lip, besides that she loved him and that she never wanted to leave ?

“And I want to be worthy of that, of you. I'm trying. But it may take me a while to get there.”

Turning around, she faced her husband, scooting close to him and sliding a hand aound her neck and in his hair.

“That's okay,” she smiled. “We have all the time in the world.”

Smiling too, Oberyn kissed her nose, and she giggled in response.

“I love you, Sansa Stark.”

To this, Sansa's heart skipped a beat.

“I love you, too.” she breathed in response.

His lips stretching into a grin, Oberyn pulled her closer, kissing her softly, his fingers on her lower back,and Sansa was left to wonder just what she had done to deserve such happiness.

 

**END OF BOOK 1**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I hope you enjoyed this chapter.  
> I have a few ideas for new adventures for our beloved couple, however they did not fit with them as they are now, so I'm planning a little fast forward :)  
> I haven't finished with them, though !  
> XOX


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter flew out of me so easily I'm actually scared of the inevitable writer's block that's going to come after this.   
> Anyways, and as always, thank you for your comments and kudos.   
> Love !

“I'm so sorry I'm late,” Sansa exclaimed, making a beeline for her husband through the crowded restaurant, prompting him to stand up.

Sighing dramatically, Oberyn waited until she was close enough to speak.

“I knew it. My wife becomes famous, and now she leaves me to wait for hours by myself.”

Sansa rolled her eyes.

“That's funny. The maitre d' said you got here five minutes ago.”

“Was it five ? I'm pretty sure it was at least six.” he kept joking as he gently took Sansa's chin between two of his fingers and kissed her.

Sansa smiled, melting into the soft embrace for a second or two, before the two of them broke apart.

“Shall we ?” he grinned, gesturing towards her seat, which she happily took.

“Let's. I am famished !”

Oberyn laughed while Sansa perused her menu.

“Do you already know what you're getting ?” she inquired.

“Mh.” he pondered briefly before putting it down. “How about you order for me ?”

“Are you just going to stare at me while I think ?”

She tilted her head to look at him over the menu, watched his smile grow on his lips.

“I think I shall,” he answered.

Rolling her eyes again, vastly amused by her husband, Sansa put her attention back on the menu, trying not to notice that Oberyn was eyeing her with intensity. She fought against saying something for a while, just enough to decide on what to eat, and then she put the menu down.

“You saw me getting dressed this morning, you know.” she lifted an eyebrow.

“Yes. But that doesn't mean I can't imagine watching you undress.”

“You are insatiable.” she teased, gulping down her glass of water, suddenly parched under Oberyn's hot gaze.

“Somehow I don't think you mind.” he smiled, crookedly.

“No, husband. I really don't.”

There were interrupted by a waiter coming to take their order, which she gave with a polite smile before turning her attention back on Oberyn.

“So, how was your day ?”

She watched as he took a deep breath.

“Complicated.”

She frowned, waiting for more details.

“The Lannisters have calmed down, but-” he pinched his nose for a split second, “it makes me uneasy. They're planning something. I know it. I just can't see what.”

A familiar pang of guilt spread through Sansa, the same that filled her every time the name Lannister was mentioned. It was her fault Oberyn had a hard time at work, constantly fending off attacks on his capita, on his contracts, on his employees. Of course, it didn't help that the Lannisters had connection in the police, which meant that Martell Tower was often swarming with detectives acting on 'anonymous tips' and scouring the place for signs of illicit activities. Sansa wondered if they ever would go one step further and plant evidence, or if this was just meant to break morale – which worked wonderfully, one may add. More often than not, Oberyn came home from work tired, grumpy, and frustrated, and Sansa was left to feel absolutely guilty and gutted that she had been the one making him go through all of it. Although Oberyn said that it was bound to happen eventually, as the Lannisters had gotten rid of every single one of their competitors before and would have circled around to them before long, and that she shouldn't feel that way, she couldn't help it. She tried being supportive, and she tried working on solutions to the problem, but she knew that the only thing that could make it go away would be her own head on a spike.

Since she had told the world about what had happened to her, she had become the very public face of Doctor Colemon's movement. Together, they had used this momentum to create a non-profit organization destined to inform the general public about health and safety in all things sex and reproduction; the good doctor – or Clarissa, as she had often told Sansa to call her – taking care of the medical side, Sansa taking care of the public side, tasked with getting them money and getting their initiatives off the ground. So far, they had been able to open their free clinic in Flea Bottom and keep it staffed and funded; they had successfully launched their website (where you could donate, buy merchandise, ask questions, read about the latest news, and get appointements in five major cities in the kingdoms), and, Sansa's personal favourite accomplishement, they had succeeded in getting the senate to pass a law that recquired all public schools to teach sex education and health to their students. Of course, it hadn't been easy; Sansa's biggest detractor had been – and still was – without surprise, the Queen herself, who would tell, to anyone who would listen, that Sansa Stark was turning everyone's children into sex addicted monkeys (Sansa loved the expression, and they were now selling t-shirts with the phrase printed on the front). They also had to comission the school manuals themselves, get them printed and distributed throughout the country, and it had been Sansa's biggest challenge and campaign so far – a challenge she had yet to win, as funding ran low and some schools were forced to make do with very few manuals.

All in all, their life since doctor Colemon's – Clarissa's – gala had changed drastically, and they found themselves with very few moments to dedicate to one another, which was why tonight's date was very important for the both of them.

“How about you, little wife ? How was your day ?”

Sansa smiled, slowly. “Good, yes.”

Oberyn smiled in response. “I'm glad.”

They held hands on the table, giving the other an account of their day, eating in relative good humour, leaving the restaurant with linked arms and a wide smile on their lips. Once in the car, Oberyn turned to her.

“Happy two year anniversary, little wife.”

Sansa grinned as Oberyn kissed the back of her hand.

“And to you,” she answered.

Her husband flashed her a last smile before settling in behind the wheel and driving them back home.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, Sansa was half-dozing in her chair, unable to concentrate for long, when Myranda opened the door with great vigor and shook her awake.

“Were you sleeping ?” the brunette asked, smiling from ear to ear.

“Sorry. I'm really tired.”

“Gee, I wonder if that has anything to do with your husband's legendary prowess in bed.”

“Randa !” Sansa protested, cheeks red.

“What are we talking about ?”

The two young women turned to see Mya standing in the doorway, stepping inside Sansa's office.

“Sansa got laid last night.” Myranda sing-sung, a grin eating half her face.

Almost simultaneously, Mya and Sansa rolled their eyes.

Among the changes that had arrived with having a business (even a non-profit – well, especially with a non-profit) one, the one Sansa was most glad with was that she had been able to offer a job to the two women that used to share her life when she had nothing else to share. Even though she had stated – specifically, and more than once – that the jobs she was offering were only opportunities, that the hours would be long and the pay laughable, the two women had jumped at it, both enthusiastic in their own way, and had appeared at the door on a Monday morning already bursting with ideas.

Mya was both their web designer and their merchandise designer, and was in charge of almost all artistic decisions – with Sansa and Clarissa, of course -; Myranda, on the other hand, was in charge of their media relations and social media presence. She worked closely with Sansa (the two of them shared the office), but was given free reign over their online presence. The two of them did a fantastic job, and Sansa had so far yet to find a single reason to be disappointed in hiring them.

“Boundaries, Randa.” Mya groaned.

“Ha! Not in this life.” the good-humoured woman laughed.

Mya snorted. “You called me in, boss ?”

Looking towards Sansa, she ostensibly turned her back to her roommate, now settled at her desk.

“Yes, actually.”

Shaking sleep away, Sansa invited the designer to sit down, then drowned the rest of her coffee cup.

“Clarissa was the one supposed to talk to you about this, but she was called to the clinic, so -” she took a deep breath, smiling. “We're thinkin of coming up with leaflets, maybe three to four pages long each, about methods of contraception, what to do if you're pregnant, about periods and how to relieve period pains, etc. In total, there would be maybe twenty of them ? Either for adults, teens or children.”

“Okay.” Mya frowned.

“We were hoping you'd illustrate them.”

“Oh.” She frowned deeper, nodding. “That's – twenty times four pages. That's a lot of pages.”

“They'd be available for free at doctor's offices, hospitals, schools, free clinics, but also community centers and pharmacies.”

“That your new campaign ? Or you already have them ready to go ?”

Sansa smiled. “That's the new campaign, yes. But first, we have to see if it's feasible, so you'd have to meet with Clarissa, who's appointing a writer to collaborate with her, and the three of you would do it together. I'd actually only come in once they're done to help schmooze into publication.”

Her two former roommates laughed.

“Okay. I'll talk to Clarissa.” Mya finally answered.

“We can ask somebody else, if you don't have the time.” Sansa smiled.

“Don't. I want to see where this goes.”

Mya got up and left the office without looking back, going straight back to her desk; Sansa released the yawn she'd been stifling for a while.

“Okay, you need to stop bragging.” Myranda joked behind her computer screen.

“I'm not !” Sansa protested, laughing. “I'm tired. I'm going to get more coffee, do you want some ?”

Without lifting her eyes from the screen, Myranda extended her empty mug (branded with 'sex-addicted monkey' on it in calligraphy) towards Sansa.

“Yes, please.”

 

* * *

 

“Are you eating without me ?”

Sansa glanced up from the sofa where she was sitting and back at Oberyn, who had only just came in from work and was taking off his jacket and tie.

“Sorry. I was hungry.” she pleaded with a look.

Oberyn laughed, sitting next to her and kissing her temple.

“Still working ?” he inquired, as he saw the mess of papers and her laptop propped open before her.

“Research,” she nodded, taking a bite from her pasta bowl. “I have to meet an important investor in the morning. I need to seduce him out of his money.”

Oberyn chuckled, taking her bowl from her – she yelped and moaned, faking heartbreak -.

“I'm not worried. You did seduce _me_ out of my money.” he winked.

“Yes, but I _sleep_ with you. I have no intention of sleeping with him.” she laughed.

“Better not.” he warned, before taking a big bite out of her dinner.

With a cough, Oberyn looked ready to spit the food out, but swallowed it with a grimace.

“What in Seven Hells is in that bowl ?”

“Chocolate sauce ?” Sansa smiled, trying not to laugh.

“Pasta and chocolate sauce ?”

Oberyn lifted his eyebrows as Sansa nodded, giving back the bowl to her and watched her continue eating.

“Is that something you usually eat ?”

Moving her gaze away from her computer, Sansa shut it down gently before turning to Oberyn.

“Comfort food.” she grinned.

“Your comfort food is pasta with chocolate sauce ?”

She nodded, then laughed at her husband's grimace. She clarified :

“I was four, and Robb was six. I was crying because my mom wouldn't let me do something sutpid, probably, I don't remember what.” She brought her knees up to her chest, looking at nothing in particular, while Oberyn's gaze was fixated on her. “Anyways, Robb tries to cheer me up, and he goes into the kitchen and comes back five minutes later with leftover pasta covered in chocolate sauce. He thought it was just dark ketchup.”

They both chuckled softly.

“And I know it's disgusting, but – it's the best kind of disgusting.” She rolled her eyes. “It's all I've been craving all day.”

“Something wrong ?” he wondered, pulling her towards him.

She shook her head, putting the bowl away before nuzzling against her husband.

“I'm just tired.” she breathed. “Tell me about your day.”

He sighed.

“Nothing major, just the same old story.”

She pulled away to look at him, frowning.

“What's wrong ?”

“Nothing.” he protested, smiling at her, kissing her nose.

“Liar.” she teased. “Tell me.”

Oberyn stared into her eyes and stated, very seriously : “Let it go, Sansa.”

Fighting internally with herself, she took a deep breath before answering.

“Fine. I won't say anything. But I'm not thinking any less of it.”

“Thank you.” he kissed the top of her head.

Grabbing him by the shirt, she pulled him close and kissed him softly on the lips.

“Do you want pasta ?” she cocked an eyebrow. “I have a secret sauce that makes everything better.”

 

* * *

 

Oberyn woke in the middle of the night, startled by a sudden noise. He jerked up, looked at down at the bed to find it empty beside him.

“Little wife ?” he called.

“Yeah ?”

The small voice came from the bathroom, and Oberyn could see the light under the door. Shaking off the covers, he made his way over there, and knocked on the door.

“Are you okay ?”

“My uterus is trying to kill me, but yeah. I'm okay.”

He chuckled, rolling his eyes to the ceilling.

He absolutely adored the fact that Sansa had found her calling, and that it was to help girls and women discover their bodies and themselves in a safe, clean and easy way. He adored that she was willing to include him in the process, keeping him appraised at all times of what projects she was working on. But, most of all, he adored that _she_ had discovered how her own body worked – she had come home one day, bristling with knowledge about herself, and had afterwards spent hours telling Oberyn all about it – and that she was open and honest about it. There were no taboo between them, and he knew exactly what she meant when she told him that.

“Do you want me to get you a hot bottle ?”

Periods had never been his forte, but he had learned alongside his sister when she had had hers for the first time, and he had been her caretaker every month after that – her pains were so severe that she could sometimes faint from them, and had been forced to take the pill at the very early age of eleven to help lessen the pain -, so it was no surprise to him that Sansa had the same problem, even if he hadn't had to deal with them before.

She came out of the bathroom a minute or so after, looking absolutely ashen. Oberyn immediately frowned.

“Hey. You okay ?”

“I hate everything and everyone.” she answered in a very serious voice, then sighed. “I did not miss this.”

“Is something wrong with the implant ?” Oberyn frowned, looking down at her arm.

“I don't know, I'll ask Clarissa in the morning.” She sighed again. “In the meantime, no sex.”

Oberyn almost roared with laughter.

“Don't say that like it's the end of the world.”

“But I like sex with my husband !” she whined and placed her lips in a exagerated pout.

Oberyn chuckled. “And he sures likes it with you.”

Kissing her nose, he gently wrapped her into a hug.

“Anything I can do for you, little wife ?”

She kept quiet into his arms for a while, then pulled away to look at him.

“I love you.” she simply stated.

“I love you, too.” he answered with a grin. He still couldn't believe how happy it made him to hear that.

Ten minutes later, she was nuzzling against his chest, prompting his heart to beat a little faster, and she was already fast asleep – Oberyn, on the other hand, took a bit longer to fall back to sleep, too; but he closed his eyes and listened to her breathe, knowing that that was all his took to lull him into a peaceful slumber.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, before the clinic opened for the day, Sansa gently knocked on the door of her colleague, peeking her head in.

“May I come in ?”

Clarissa Colemon smiled. “Of course. Good morning.”

“Good morning,” Sansa echoed, sitting opposite her, in one of the visitor's chairs.

“Is everything all right ?”

“Well, I was wondering if you could give me a small check-up before we start the day. If you don't mind.”

“Something happened.” the doctor deduced, frowning.

“I think I need to change my implant.”

In one fluid motion, Clarissa stood up and came to sit next to Sansa, who offered her her arm without question.

“Does it hurt ?”

“No, but I got horrible cramps last night,” she sighed, “and I think I'm getting my period. I had spots, blood spots. Small, but not inconsequential.”

Clarissa studied her arm for a moment, then lifted up her gaze.

“Oberyn a litle rough ?” she finally asked.

Sansa snickered, the notion so far from anything she believed possible. “No.”

Clarissa studied her answer, then pushed forward.

“Anything new in your life that could cause you stress, anxiety ? A new diet, perhaps ?”

“Well,” the redhead chuckled, “I have been eating a lot of chocolate covered pasta in the past two weeks or so.”

The doctor grimaced, making Sansa laugh.

“It's a comfort thing.” she clarified.

“Right. Any nausea, any sickness ?”

“You heard me when I said 'chocolate covered pasta', right ?”

It was Clarissa's turn to laugh. “I don't think I'll ever un-hear it. Is that a yes, then ?”

“Yeah, a little. Nothing bad, though.”

“Tired ?”

“Well, we have been working pretty hard, lately, what with the school textbook thing and all. Plus, I have to see Olenna Tyrell this morning, and you know about her reputation.”

Clarissa nodded absently before moving on.

“Cranky ?”

Sansa frowned. “Cranky ?” she repeated. “Okay, what are those questions ? Is something wrong, or not ?”

“I think I've got my answer.” Clarissa laughed.

“Sorry,” Sansa blushed. “I didn't mean to snap.”

“That's all right. I think I know what's up.”

Sansa gazed up at her colleague, waiting for the answer, trying to find it in the woman's smile.

“What ?” she finally snapped, again.

“I think you might be pregnant, Sansa.”

The young woman's contenance fell.

“Oh.”

Her mind was turning on itself, trying to spot every clue, every early indication that it might be true. Every time she had had to close her eyes and breathe deeply to work through the sickness, every cup of coffee she had had to drink to keep her eyes open, every ounce of chocolate sauce poured on cold, slimy pasta – Sansa put her hand on her mouth.

“Oh.” she repeated, a little louder. “Crap.”

“No need to panic just now. I'm going to draw a little blood, send it down and have someone analyze it, and then we'll be set. Okay ?”

Clarissa was trying to soothe her, but Sansa's brain was already firing every bad scenario at her – Oberyn kicking her out, Oberyn shutting her out, Oberyn mad, hurt, betrayed; Oberyn accepting the child only out of obligation, Oberyn forcing her to get rid of it, her wanting to get rid of it and Oberyn forcing her not to, Oberyn being unhappy, her being unhappy, them breaking up and then what was she going to do with a child ?

Or worse, that child being hurt the way she had been hurt. She didn't think she could bear that. So, naturally, her brain latched onto the idea until Sansa started to truly panic, her airway clogging up.

“Sansa, calm down.”

There were hands around her wrists, cool and firm, and the voice was calmly trying to ground her before she lost it completely, but were ultimately unsuccessful, as Sansa lurched forward and vomitted the content of her breakfast into the doctor's trashcan.

It was only ten minutes later, when the doctor had gotten the blood and calmed her patient and friend down, that Sansa finally spoke.

“When will we know ?”

“I'm going to give this to the lab downstairs, they should tell us tonight. Maybe tomorrow, it depends.”

“Okay.”

Sansa felt another rush of panic coming in, but braced herself against it.

“Oh, crap, crap, crap.” she muttered under her breath.

“Easy,” Clarissa coddled her friend. “Let me tell you what you're going to do.”

Sansa looked up at the older woman.

“You're going to go home,” she was told in a clear, serene voice, “and you're going to call your husband and you're going to tell him exactly what's going on.”

“And freak him out, too ?”

“He's going to freak anyway.” Clarissa chuckled. “And in the meantime, you can talk about this.”

“I can't believe this is happening. How is this happening ?”

The doctor sighed. “I don't know.”

Sansa got up, pacing in the office.

“Okay.” she said to herself, then spoke louder, “Do we have any pregnancy tests here ?”

The other woman stood up and fetched one from a cupboard, extending it to Sansa, who took it after a slight hesitation.

“Okay.” she repeated. “This is what I'm going to do. I'm going to pee on this, meet with Olenna Tyrell, then go home for lunch and talk to Oberyn.”

“That's a very good plan.” Clarissa pushed her to the door. “I'll call you as soon as I have the results, okay ?”

“Thank you.”

Sansa was barely out of the door, though, that her phone rang. She fished it out of her bag, grimacing as she saw Oberyn's name displayed. _Play it cool, Stark_ , she told herself.

“Hi,” she breathed into the receiver.

She was answered by silence, and then a throaty, coarse voice spoke.

“This is my last warning, wolf girl. Recant your statement, or the next time we speak, I'll be standing over your husband's dead body.”

A soft click finished the conversation, and Sansa's eyes went wide, her heart stopping.

 


	14. Chapter 14

The first thing Oberyn noticed as he slowly emerged from unconsciousness was the steady shrill beeping of a machine, followed by a hiss, then two, then three. And then came the pain, a raw feeling across his stomach and side, and then came the memories, the two guards dead and him lying in a pool of his own blood, listening to that nutcase talking into his phone.

He hoped to the Gods he hadn't called Sansa.

Opening his eyes was harder than usual, and he groaned in pain as he tried to move his neck.

“My dear brother,” Doran spoke from across the room, “what trouble have you gotten yourself into this time ?”

Oberyn waited until his eyes made sense of what was around him, moving his head extremely gingerly, surveying the room to see who was in the room with him. Doran was there, next to his bed, looking at him with half a smile on his lips, although he couldn't find what it was that was so funny.

“Your wife is _pissed_.”

Oberyn looked around again, trying to sit up despite every muscle in his body screaming at him not to move.

“Where is she ?” he managed to croak.

“Last I heard, Daemon was debriefing her somewhere in the hospital.”

“Safe ?”

Doran took a deep breath. “Yeah.”

Oberyn tried to nod.

“How long was I out ?”

Everything was blurry, and everything hurt. Oberyn leaned back on the pillows, closing his eyes.

“Long enough for me to make the trip from the Water Gardens and develop three distincts torture plans for the bastard once I find him.”

After his brother's words, Oberyn tried to laugh, but the most he could manage was a weak smile and a small chuckle. He heard Doran wheel closer, speaking in hush tones.

“I read the letters. You're lucky I got to them before your wife could.”

A sigh escaped Oberyn's lips. Those letters … Banes on his existence ever since Sansa had came out with her story, each one of them escalating in violence. They started receiving them at the house, and Arielle – thank the Gods for that woman – had had the good sense of hiding them from Sansa. She told him they first came alone, and then, as they went unanswered, started arriving with gifts of gore and blood.

Oberyn had tightened security around his wife as much as he could have without her noticing, had Daemon Sand, his head of security at the firm, tip Doran's personal bodyguard, and had spent more time in the gym than ever, trying to exorcise his frustration at not finding the creep sending them those missives, or not finding any shred of evidence that Cersei Lannister or her father – or her _son_ – had orchestrated the whole thing through repeatedly punching the same bag over and over again.

And now, they were resting atop his brother's lap, but Oberyn refused to look at them; Gods knew he'd read them often enough to know them by heart.

“What were you thinking, keeping those to yourself ?”

Oberyn swallowed. Talking hurt.

“Daemon knew, that was enough.”

“Clearly, it wasn't.” Doran almost hissed.

In no mood to be scolded by his big brother, Oberyn tried sitting up again.

“Will you put them away ? I don't want Sansa to see them.”

“Don't want me to see what ?”

Before either of them could move, Sansa almost appeared out of nowhere, frowning, planting herself at the doorstep, followed by his head of security. Oberyn instantly turned to her, ignoring the sharp jolt of pain in his midsection, looking at every inch of her to see if she was okay. She, as it turned out, he understood from the way her eyes moved across him, was doing the same thing.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Doran give him a pointed look.

“Doctor's notes.” he quickly lied.

He saw Sansa clench her jaw, open her mouth to start speaking, then think better of it and simply stood there, glaring at her husband, leaving the three of them, Oberyn, Doran and Daemon, in an uneasy silence.

After he had discreetly hidden the letters under his jacket on his lap, Doran rolled away from his brother.

“We'll leave you two alone. Daemon, a word ?”

Sansa pulled away to let them pass, her eyes never leaving her husband's face, and closed the door behind them.

“Sansa -” he started, trying to straighten up (his stomach was killing him).

“Don't you dare,” she exclaimed in hushed tones.

She shook her head slowly.

“You're unbelievable, you know that ? After months of keeping things from me, you end up in the hospital, stabbed, in pain and unable to move, and your first instinct is _still_ to lie to me.”

She didn't shout, didn't move, and somehow that was even worse than the words coming out of her mouth. She looked gutted, disappointed, sad. Oberyn's heart felt like it was tearing.

“ _Months_ , Oberyn.” she coninued, and his voice ran away.

He couldn't understand why he had done what he had done any more.

“And I don't care for your excuses. I don't care if you thought you were doing the right thing. I repeatedly asked you to tell me the truth at all times, and you repeatedly both promised and broke that promise.”

“Sansa-” he tried again.

“Don't you dare,” she repeated, eyes dark with anger.

He recognized the particular brand of it instantly; it was the kind of anger that came with fear, and betrayal. His heart teared further.

“You do this to me one more time, one more,” she lifted a finger for emphasis, “and I am walking away from you.”

She strode to the door and opened it, stopping on the doorstep to look back at him.

“Think about that the next time you want to lie to me.”

 

* * *

 

Sansa was seething. She tried to hide it, walk through this hospital without it showing on her face, she stayed placid and pleasant until she reached a private place. Daemon had driven her here, but he wasn't around anymore; so she simply flagged down one of her new bodyguards and asked him to take her home.

He hesitated at frist, but Sansa only had to stare him down for a few seconds, quiet and determined, before he agreed and obeyed. Before she left, however, she stopped by a nurses' station to warn them about how her husband would surely try to leave, and that they shouldn't hesitate to do what they had to do to keep him in his bed; the two nurses shot her a surprised look, but she didn't hang around to explain herself : her husband was injured, he had to stay in bed. Was that so far-fetched ?

The first thing she did once she was in the comfort of her home (after her bodyguards had checked every nook and cranny for any signs of an intruder, and left her alone as they found nothing) was something she hadn't yet allowed herself to do : she fell to her knees and gave in to the fear, the worry, the pain.

She started sobbing on the floor, holding her stomach with one hand and muting herself with the other, closing her eyes, trying to chase the ghastly image of the man she loved lying in a hospital bed, all color gone from his face. She'd watched him sleep as the doctors explained to both Doran and her what they had done to repair the damage that had been done to him, stone-faced and willing herself to steel to stop her heart from breaking, and once that was done, she'd grabbed Daemon Sand by the arm and dragged him outside.

She had previously only met the man _once_ , but she had found him competent at his job – how differently she felt now – and hadn't pursued the issue further than that; oh, how she had been wrong.

There, in the hospital, pushed by Sansa, he told her everything : about the letters, the threats, the secrets; he talked and she listened, taking everything in in stride, biting down on her own teeth not to start shaking or crying, and thanked him when he was done. It wasn't her place to do so, but if she could have, she would have fired him on the spot – and she made sure he knew that.

When she went back to the room, Oberyn was awake, but the first thing he said to her was a lie. They seemed all to flow out of him like water, but now she knew the water was laced with empty promises – and all her happiness at finding him awake, alive, as healthy as one could be in this situation fizzled. So she only said her piece and left, knowing that tears were coming, not wanting to shed them infront of anyone. Their enemies – could she call them enemies ? It felt a bit much – could have eyes everywhere, and she wouldn't give anyone the satisfaction.

But now she was alone, and she wept for her husband, for their maybe child, for the family she had lost and the family she was making for herself, and she wept for her own sake, too. She wept because she knew she needed to do so, before she could rise up and fight this.

She hated herself in that moment. Hated that she had let her dreams and her speech and her stupid little girl feelings create a situation where Oberyn could get injured. Hated that she had underestimated the lions and their rage. She hated herself and blamed herself, for surely this was her fault and her fault alone.

If that was what Clarissa wanted, if that was what Mya, Myranda and the rest of them, if that was what Doran and Daemon, if that was what Oberyn wanted, then tomorrow she'd do the right thing. Tomorrow she'd grovel before the queen.

It wasn't her first time doing it, surely she hadn't forgotten how.

She'd grovel and plead and beg. Tomorrow, she would.

And she hoped that it would be enough.

 _It is never going to be enough_ , a voice in her head whispered, but then what would be ? She'd put her name right back on the map when she married Oberyn, of course Cersei and her son would never have just let her be. She was a reminder of their evil, and she'd rubbed it in their faces – of course they wouldn't let it slide.

If anything, she was surprised they had waited this long.

 

* * *

 

Hours passed as he faded in and out of consciousness, barely strong enough to open his eyes – they must have given him drugs, he felt so tired – and he was enveloped with thick, grey mist, in his brain, in his heart, around his eyes. The slow drip of his I.V and the noise it made were awfully loud, the machine recording his heartbeat was agony; although he could feel no pain, he wasn't entirely certain he could feel his muscles, either.

Everything outside his closed pupils looked too bright, and it prevented him from being able to open them. He moved a finger, but there was no one around to see it.

 

* * *

 

She should have known something wasn't right.

She should have known the minute Oberyn came home one day, in the early afternoon, had locked himself in his office for a long time before coming out to sit opposite her and ask her, once, very calmly, what had happened the day they had fought, the year before.

She should have known something was wrong because he had promised not to bring it up again until she was ready, and yet here he was.

She should have known, but instead, all she did was spill everything out to him. Truthfully, she had been wanting to do so for a long time, and this was just an excuse to finally let it out.

He had only looked at her silently for a while, before he'd gotten up, had thanked her for telling him, had kissed her forehead and had left.

She should have deduced something was very wrong, but her mind had been elsewhere that day, and so she had let it slide.

Stupid girl.

 

* * *

 

It was night, the next time he woke up; and this time, he was able to keep both eyes open. Daemon was the only one with him, seated in a chair at the foot of the bed.

“Welcome back, sir.”

His voice, as always, was dry and devoid of emotion – a trait he had loved, but now he only longed for his wife.

“Sansa-”

That was the only thing he was able to croak, and Daemon nodded, understanding what his boss had meant.

“She's at home, sir. Your brother as well.”

Oberyn nodded, gingerly, so as not to wake his body up more than he dared.

“They're both safe.”

He nodded again, and his eyes closed almost against him. Why was he so tired ?

“I'm sorry, sir. About today.”

That was the last thing he heard before falling back down to sleep.

 

* * *

 

 

Doran found his sister-in-law in the kitchen, making tea.

He watched her moved around the room without saying anything, gratefully accepting the tea and the sandwhiches she pushed towards him, and he watched as she positionned herself by the window, her back turned to him. He ate in silence, noticing that she _didn't_ , noticing how her shoulders were tense, how she held herself straighter than a board.

He had never understood why Oberyn had been so attracted to her; sure, she was absolutely gorgeous : red hair, beautiful face, blue eyes, legs for days. In a very common sense, she was pretty, yes, of course.

But then again, Oberyn had never before been attracted to standard beauty, so she had been a first.

He hadn't understood when Oberyn told him they were married, and why he had been sporting the biggest grin as he told him so; he hadn't understood what it was about Sansa Stark that had made Oberyn Martell, his baby brother who used and reused women as means of stress release, fall head over heels.

But he understood, now. He'd glimpsed the fire. He'd glimpsed the beast.

First when she stood in front of all these reporters and all that nobility, and told them about her story.

Then when Cersei slapped her, twice, and still she won that round.

And now, when Oberyn was down, she was upright, not wailing, not wondering what to do, where to go, how to go on living. She was standing straight, and she was steel.

Oh, how he wouldn't want to be a Lannister now.

“My father was full of sayings.”

Suddenly brought back down to earth, Doran frowned. It was the first time she talked about her family in front of him so willingly, and it surprized him. He put down his tea and wheeled closer to where she was standing.

He had never noticed that you could see the palace from their kitchen window.

“'Winter is coming', that was his favourite one. Our family motto.”

Her hands were clenched together, but her voice was clear, even.

“'The winters are hard, but the Starks will endure, we always have', that was what he'd say to anyone wondering how we could live under all that snow, with all that wind, in all that cold.”

She turned to Doran.

“Have you ever been to Winterfell, Doran ?”

“I cannot say I've had the pleasure.” he answered, politely.

She turned back to the window.

“You'd hate it.”

They were silent after all, for a long while. Doran was looking at the lights in the palace; only Gods knew what Sansa was looking at, thinking about.

“There's something he used to tell Arya,” she continued, taking a deep breath, lifting up her chin. “'When the cold wind blows, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives.'”

Doran turned to her, frowned slightly.

“See, I used to think he was wrong, because clearly, only the lone wolf had survived.”

She turned around completely, walking to the counter, where a cup of tea lay, untouched, next to her phone. She grabbed it, although Doran suspected it was more to have something to do with her hands rather than to drink it.

“But I've learned something today. Something that changes everything. And it got me thinking about my father, what he would do if he were here, in my shoes.”

“He was, once.”

She was mesmerizing to watch, he found, even now that she did absolutely nothing. But there was a light, something that shone and moved throughout her body, something alive – it was hypnotizing him, and in that moment, he truly understood why Oberyn loved that girl so very much.

“Yes, he was. He lied, to protect me,” she sighed, then snorted softly. “Clearly, it got him the same death he would've gotten if he had kept quiet.”

She zeroed in on him with her eyes, and he tried to held his gaze without flinching.

“What would your mother say, then ?” he inquired, wanting her to finish her thought.

Slowly, very slowly, a smile appeared on her lips.

“Don't let the bastards grind you down.”

 

* * *

 

Night came and went, and Oberyn woke almost every two hours, like clockwork. There was always something: he was in pain, he needed to move, to pee, to ingest more medicine, be examined by more nurses and more doctors. He couldn't wait to go home to his wife, but he'd been told, sternly, that there was no hope of that for at least two weeks. He doubted he'd get through one.

After breakfast (disappointing, although he hadn't been able to eat much), he dozed off again, more lightly this time, as he waited for Sansa to show. He didn't know she'd be coming – she was pissed at him after all - but he hoped she would. He waited, half-awake, half-asleep, the tv on low, until he finally couldn't wait any more, and only slept.

There was something heavy against his side as he woke up, and an arm around his chest, surrounding him. He smiled before he opened his eyes, recognizing the scent of his wife's shampoo – for a while, he pretended they were back home, on a Sunday morning with nowhere to go and no one to see, just the two of them in their bubble. Moving slowly, he kissed the top of her head, and she stirred almost immediately.

“Hi,” she greeted him, sleepily.

“Hi,” he answered with a smile.

With a sigh, she moved away – he tried to follow, but his side reminded him how much of a bad idea it was – until she was sitted on the bed and rubbed her eyes.

“I don't like sleeping without you.”

She sounded almost sheepish, but he couldn't understand why : after all, isn't that what they were going for ? Being so used to the other's presence that not having it felt weird ? It felt weird for him, all right. Especially if she was mad at him.

“You're still a jerk, though,” she stated, as though reading his mind.

He smiled again.

“How are you feeling ?” she inquired, in a soft voice.

“I'm all right. You ?”

She nodded. “I'm all right. Doran, too. Although we both agree you should fire Daemon.”

He stopped himself from rolling his eyes.

“I'm not going to fire Daemon.”

“I know. I'm just saying,” she shrugged.

Inch by inch, he sat up.

“He made a mistake.” _That happens to everybody_. _Especially me, when it comes to you_.

“A mistake that could have cost you your life.”

“Little wife, I wasn't going to die. That wasn't the point of all of this.”

She sighed, slowly, trying to rub and shake something out of herself, though Oberyn didn't know what. Reassuringly, he put a hand on her thigh. She put her eyes on him, and they were sad.

“I need you to stay in one piece, husband. I can't do what's coming on my own.”

Oberyn frowned, and so did she. Quickly, she moved off the bed and walked to the bathroom, which she then closed behind her.

Ignoring everything, Oberyn tried to get up to follow her, but went too fats, too far, and the room started spinning as he was hit by nausea. He leaned back into the bedframe, closing his eyes, willing the sickness away, lips pursed together.

Sansa emerged from the bathroom a while later, her face ashen, holding a tissue to her mouth. He stared at her pointedly.

“Are you really okay, little wife ?”

“Yeah. Well, maybe. I don't know.”

She tried to smile, but it looked more like a grimace.

“What's going on ?”

She came back to the bed where she sat next to his legs, close enough for him to reach out and touch her – which he obviously did -, and she searched his eyes with hers for a long time before she spoke.

“There's something I need to tell you, something big. But before I can do that, there's something else that needs to be said.”

“Okay.”

He frowned. It wasn't like her to be so formal, and he didn't like it.

“You need to stop with the lone wolf crap. You and me and Doran, we're a pack now. We need to stick together, otherwise we won't survive the winter.”

Even though the analogy was lost on him, he thought he grasped her meaning.

“You can't be reckless anymore. You can't handle everything yourself, I have to weigh in. I have to know.”

She leaned closer.

“If there's something bothering you, tell me about it. If there's danger, I need to know about it. You can't just stick me with a couple of guys and think they'll keep me safe, when getting them without knowing what they're for only makes me want to ditch them.”

He frowned again. “How do you know about that ?”

She laughed.

“Husband, you can't have people following me around everywhere, trying much too hard to blend in and be invisible, and expect me not to notice.”

“How did you know they were mine ?” he squeezed her thigh.

“I asked Daemon.”

He snorted, then felt a sharp pain in his belly. He moaned, and Sansa kissed his forehead.

“And you didn't tell me you knew because ?”

“Honestly ?” She leaned back to observe him. “I wanted to see how long you'd go without telling me.”

He closed his eyes, nodding, disappointed in himself, now that he saw how it had affected his wife.

“I really dropped the ball on that one, huh ?”

“A football field full of them.” she joked., then sighed, all seriousness back behind her words. “But it can't happen again, do you hear ? It's not just you and me any more.”

Trying to grasp her meaning, Oberyn lifted an eyebrow.

And then she dropped a life-sized bomb.

After the explosion came the ringing in his ears, and his heart beating wilder, the beeping reverberating throughout the room, cutting through deafening silence.

“I'm pregnant, Oberyn.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *mic drop*  
> (thanks for all the kudos and all the comments, you guys are sweethearts.)


	15. Chapter 15

There was ringing.

It was loud, obnoxious, and it blocked out all other sounds – Oberyn blinked. He wanted to shake his head to make it go away, maybe rub his ears, but he found he couldn't move. Not because of the pain, however – this, too, was strangely muted, far away, almost as if it belonged to another body – but because it felt like the ground had been taken from his feet.

He was free-falling, and yet frozen in place.

He was stopped, he felt stopped, as if the world had constricted him and was holding him too tight for him to move even just a muscle. He swallowed, trying – and failing – not to stare at his wife with wide, unblinking eyes.

He hadn't been expecting that. She could have told him almost anything else and he would have been prepared, but this ... Nothing, in his entire life, could have ever prepared him for _those_ three words put together.

And, from the looks of it, and through the pleading look she was putting upon him, he summised that Sansa hadn't expected saying them ever either.

The ringing stopped, suddenly, and everything hit him at the same time: incomprehension, first; then fear, then panic. More panic. But only for a second, and then something else attached itself to the chaos.

Acceptance.

And something that felt eerily similar to joy.

Sansa was looking at him, waiting for him to answer, and he wanted to do so, he wanted to – what did he want ? He couldn't say. The silence was somehow so loud that it pierced his eardrums.

She looked away, blushing slightly, staring at the ground. Oh, how he loved her so. But why did she look so lost ?

Sound came back to him as he reached out – a flash of sharp ache ran across his side – to take her hand. _I love you_ , he told her, and she looked back at him. There were tears in her eyes. _I love you_ , he said again, and he tugged at her softly, and she was already sobbing as she settled against him. He held her with one arm, soothed her with the other, his mouth on the top of her head, and he swayed softly, gingerly, and waited for the storm to pass.

 

* * *

 

Truth be told, she didn't know why she was crying, other than she was absolutely exhausted. And stressed, too. Maybe that was it, her nerves finally giving in.

This wasn't how it was supposed to happen, it wasn't how anything was supposed to happen. Her husband wasn't supposed to be in a hospital bed, and she wasn't supposed to be so afraid of everything. They were supposed to laugh, to cry of happiness, to make projects for the future and wonder out loud what it was going to be like to be a family.

Everything was messed up, and now more than ever, this mess was her fault. She needed her parents, their guidance and their counsel, but they were dead, and so were Oberyn's, and the only family they had was Doran, and _he_ was out looking for blood to match his brother's.

Quite the pack, the three of them, and nowhere whole enough to take care of a child.

This baby, no bigger than a pea or a poppy seed inside her belly, was already starting a life on a wrong foot. How was that _fair_ ?

She sobbed, and was comforted by a kiss on her head.

Nothing was fair.

She pushed away, wiping her eyes, sitting up.

The time for tears was over.

“You alright, little wife ?”

Oberyn's voice was soft, but strained. She chuckled sadly.

“No. Are you ?”

“That …” He looked down at his stomach for a moment, “Remains to be seen, I think.”

He was cracking a smile, and Sansa rolled her eyes (but smiled anyway).

“We're going to be okay, though. You and I.” He squeezed her hand.

She shook her head.

“What are we going to do, Oberyn ?”

“I don't know. But we are going to figure it out.”

He was holding her hand still, and though his fingers were colder than usual, he was still warming her skin, rubbing her alive. She smiled, thinking to herself how incredible it was that she, a woman who'd been told her whole life that breeding was the reason she was put on this earth, was freaking out more than a man who had, up till now, never really thought about having children – or not having them. Maybe they were going to be okay, she didn't know, she wasn't sure. But Oberyn was still there, and that as a win for her today.

“I got to go,” she sighed.

“Don't.”

Oberyn's answer came out almost instantly.

“I have to. I'm meeting with the Tyrells this morning, and I already rescheduled on them once.”

“But your husband is suffering greatly, and almost on his death bed. They won't hold it against you.”

Sansa laughed before her husband's plaintive argument, and saw him smile in response.

“I love you, Oberyn,” she said as she kissed his forehead, “Will you think about it ?”

“Oh, little wife,” his eyes were already starting to close – damn drugs -, “I don't think I'll stop.”

 

* * *

 

Olenna and Margaery Tyrell were already in Sansa's office when she walked in the door, despite her being almost a half-hour early. Myranda almost burst out of the chair she was hiding in, and strided towards Sansa at great speed.

“They've been here less than five minutes,” she started to whisper extremely fast, making Sansa have to concentrate to keep up, and both women marched towards their office, “I've given them tea and hightailed out of there because otherwise I'm pretty sure I would have said something inappropriate, and besides I really don't want to be in the same room as the Queen of Thorns, people say she can get you to spill all of your secrets, and I like my secrets and I don't wan't them discovered-”

“Myranda, focus,” Sansa admonished quietly.

“Right, anyway, I doubt they're here for a donation, I mean, that's what hey say, but really, do we believe that, because that's the new king's new girlfriend in there, and they're both team Lannister as far as the public is concerned but it doesn't look like she gets punched everyday, and-”

She shushed as they approached the door, gave Sansa a look of encouragement, and walked back to the chair she was sitting on when Sansa arrived, and all that was left to do was enter.

Sansa took a deep breath.

“Good morning,” she smiled as she opened the door, “I apologize for the wait, but I'm afraid the traffic did not want to cooperate with me this morning.”

She shook both their hands, asked them to remain seated – although it didn't look like Olenna Tyrell had had the intention to stand at all.

“Mrs Martell, before we go on, I would like to say we were all very sorry to hear about your husband's accident. We wish him a fast recovery.”

Sansa looked at the younger Tyrell, the one who had expressed the sentiment, and smiled politely. In a split second, she tried to englobe her with a look, get a feel of the woman who was now living with Joffrey Lannister.

“Thank you.”

“As your colleague may have told you, we are both here today,” Margaery extended a hand to her grandmother, “ because we believe in the work you're doing, and we wished to make a donation.”

“So I've heard.” Sansa agreed, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

The brunette kept going, but Olenna Tyrell's eyes weren't leaving Sansa.

“I have been doing some voluntary work myself in the orphanages in Flea Bottom, but unfortunately, they are closing, and the children are being moved out of the city and to the east.”

Sansa frowned. She hadn't heard about that.

“I'm sorry to hear that. Any particular reason ?”

“Real estate prices are going up, as I've heard. The buildings have been bought, and the children asked to leave.”

Sansa make a quick note to herself to talk to Clarissa about it, see if _they_ could do anything. After all, she doubted anyone at the palace, not even these two, had much fought against this.

“But that is not why we've come.”

“It isn't ?”

Sansa maintained an air of politeness, detachement, as she looked from one woman to the other.

“I wanted to see if there were anything for me here.” Margaery stated calmly, glancing at her grandmother.

“A job ?” Sansa lifted an eyebrow, clearly surprised. “Here ?”

Margaery assented.

“What makes you think we can afford you ?” Sansa chuckled to herself.

Margaery smiled. “I don't require payment. I have enough money.”

“All right,” Sansa nodded, then gave a gentle push to see where these two women would fall, “I'll rephrase my question, then : what makes you think your new family-in-law, so to speak, would agree to you working with us, with _me_?”

The two women shared a glance, and then Olenna put down the cup of tea she'd been sipping from the entire time. Sansa sat straighter.

“You've heard,” Margaery stated calmly.

 _Heard what ?_ In her head, thoughts were spinning, fast, as she tried to grasp what she'd meant by that – all the while maintaining an air of calm, of course. Sansa turned to her, smiling politely, waiting. Olenna, on the other hand, was smiling with both malice and glee mixing in her eyes.

“I was wrong to think you without claws. I'm impressed.”

Again, Sansa kept her eyes on her, willing herself to raise her chin a little, acting more confident that she felt.

“I said yes.” Margaery cut in, speaking more softly than her grandmother.

“Of course you did.” Sansa agreed, a lightbulb finally lighting in her head.

 _Joffrey had asked her to marry him. She was going to be queen._ Now _that_ was news, and Sansa didn't know how to react to them. Relieved, a little, of course, now that she was off the hook; but worried for the beautiful young woman sitting opposite her, too. And yet …

Margaery frowned, and Olenna lifted an eyebrow, still smiling.

“From what I gather about your family and yourself, Miss Tyrell,” Sansa continued, “you're not the type to let abuse and battery get in the way of what you want. Are you ?”

Margaery's smile faded, but her grandmother's grew bigger.

“Are you calling me a gold digger, Mrs. Martell ?”

“Not at all.” Sansa shook her head. “I'm fairly certain _you_ would have nothing to do with him if you could, given _you're_ the one being sacrificed at the altar, so to speak, but -” she sighed, “- we all do our parts to make our parents proud, don't we ? I know I tried.”

Olenna Tyrell laughed, making both women look towards her.

“I like you, Sansa Stark. Maybe not the best survival instincts, but you certainly have spunk.”

She turned to her granddaughter.

“I was expecting an idiot with a big heart, but isn't this lovelier ?”

 _An idiot ?_ Sansa lifted an eyebrow. _That was quite mild, if that was all Cersei said about her behind closed doors_.

“Well, child, now you know why we're here, then.”

Another lightbulb went off.

“You want to know if it's true. All of it.”

Olenna nodded, once. Sansa turned to Margaery, who was barely able to contain her curiosity. In the end, the redhead thought it would be best to simply tear off the bandaid.

“It is.”

“All of it ?”

“Every word.”

There was a sigh, although Sansa couldn't tell from which Tyrell it was coming from.

“That's a pity.” Olenna Tyrell stated. “I was hoping you'd exagerated.”

Sansa refrained from rolling her eyes, then turned to Margaery Tyrell.

“I would advise against this wedding, but I'm guessing you don't have much of a choice, do you ?”

“Her oaf of a father is determined to see her on the throne, you see.” Olenna answered for her granddaughter.

“My brother will keep me safe, have no fear.” Margaery reached out to take Sansa's hand and squeezed it.

Sansa stared at her, marveling at her own determination, her own ambition.

“You can't make him love you. I'm afraid he hasn't the heart for it.”

“No, but I can make him respect me, and I will.”

Another squeeze, although this time, Sansa was the one initiating it. She was quite certain that, in another life, in other circumstances, the two of them would have been great friends.

“I have to say, working here, with me, might not be the best way to do that.”

“Let us worry about that.” Olenna answered for the two of them.

“But you will ? Let me work here ?” Margaery asked.

Sansa almost beamed.

“I'm sure we can find some use for your talents.”

 

* * *

 

For the second day in a row, Oberyn lost track of the time, dozing off and waking up at random moments, able to keep his eyes open for maybe an hour at a time, never more, his sleep punctuated by weird, colourless dreams.

 _Enough_ , he told himself.

He didn't like the colour of this hospital room walls, how the white was so clean that it hurt his eyes every time he'd wake up; he didn't like the smell either, for that matter. Like disinfectant in huge quantities, and the underlying smell of death and disease – Oberyn was neither of those things. And he didn't like this room, period, this room where everyone would barge in every couple hours; the nurses for medication, the doctors for reassurance, the hospital administrators and board members looking to schmooze and lick Oberyn's ass – he didn't want his boots kissed, he wanted to go home. He wanted to sleep in his own bed, with his wife lying next to him, and he wanted peace and quiet while he thought about what came next.

“The doctor tells me you're refusing your pain meds.”

Doran wheeled up to him slowly, watching as Oberyn winced and groaned while he tried to get out of bed.

“I'm leaving,” he announced calmly, between sharps intake of air.

Doran kept quiet, but a small smile appeared on his lips. Doing his best to ignore him, Oberyn gently and gradually sat up, turned, and put his feet on the ground, one at a time, for the first time in what felt like weeks.

“How does it feel ?”

“Like I'm going to barf all over this fucking linoleum floor.”

While Doran roared with laughter, Oberyn closed his eyes, concentrating. He imagined Sansa, sitting on the couch, smiling and beckoning him closer, her stomach as round as a basketball, her hands gliding over it softly. He locked onto this image, let it imprint in his mind, and heaved himself up to take his first step toward it.

His first step, though, was cut short by the room swirling around him much too rapidly, and he had to rely on his brother to keep him up; otherwise he would have ended up on the floor. But Doran gently pushed him backwards, forcing him to stand up.

“Come on, little brother,” he gently stated to a stumbling Oberyn, “we've got a revenge to plan.”

“No,” Oberyn answered, “first I kiss my wife, and then we plan our defense. The three of us.”

 

* * *

 

When the door of the house closed behind her, Sansa let out a deep sigh of contentment, kicking off her shoes and taking off her jacket.

Food first, she thought, then a shower, and then the hospital.

Although she didn't get to the kitchen before she noticed something was odd.

“Doran ?” she called as she saw him in the living room, pouring over the famous letters Oberyn had received with Daemon Sand standing next to him.

This one had the grace to look flustered and away, which was exactly how Sansa knew this would not be her only surprise.

She sighed again, holding the bridge of her nose with two fingers, then looked over at her brother in law.

“Where is he ?”

“Upstairs.” Doran answered with a sly smirk, not at all looking surprised that she had put two and two together.

“I'm going to kill him,” Sansa muttered to herself as the jumped up the staircase, two stairs at a time.

 

* * *

 

Upon insistance from the doctor, (not that he had much wanted to disagree this time) Oberyn had taken the drugs for the pain; and, as soon as he had been put to bed – _his_ own, in _his_ home – his head had hit the pillow - _his_ pillow - and he was asleep. When he woke, he knew exactly what he had dreamed about.

_Family._

Playing with a small child with dark hair and darker eyes, blurbing, cooing, his wife's laughter ringing in his ear, filling him with a happiness he could never describe – and he opened his eyes smiling, and for a moment, he was floating.

And then the pain hit again, anchoring him back to earth, surrounding him and piercing him through and through. Coming home felt, in this one moment, like the worst idea he had ever had. Having Doran take the pain meds and keep them, thus ensuring that Oberyn would not see them again, had been the second worst.

 _Good going, Oberyn,_ he thought to himself, _two very bad ideas in one day. Have any more in store ?_

Yes, it turned out, he did : groaning, he sat up, trying, failing, to not notice the pain that ran through him like thunder. Trembling, he reached out to get the glass of water sitting on his bedside table, only to send it flying to the floor.

“Oh, for fuck's sake -” he grunted, leaning backwards, shielding his eyes with his hand.

“This feels like a very potent flashforward,” came a voice – Sansa's – from the other end of the room, making him sharply turn toward it – bad idea number four -, “to eight months from now, when I'm as huge as a whale.”

Despite the throbbing ache and the pending nausea, Oberyn smiled, his mind filling again with the image of his wife, round and full.

“But I didn't make fun of you today, so you can't make fun of me then.”

She walked closer, avoiding the puddle and the broken glass, and sat next to him. She ran her fingers through his hair, moving it back, and he closed his eyes, inhaling her perfume, keeping her close as she kissed his forehead.

“What are you doing here, husband ? You should be in the hospital,” she inquired softly.

“You need me more.”

“What I need is for you to get better, truly better, and not only half of it because you and your brother were frustrated with the recovery time. What I need is for you to look at the bigger picture.”

“Tow years ago, I thought I was saving you by marrying you.” Oberyn whispered as she moved back, and the two of them shared a look. He felt her fingers in his hair again. “And yet you're the one doing all the saving.”

She shook her head, chuckling.

“Shut up.”

 

* * *

 

When Oberyn went back to sleep, she checked his pulse and his temperature, and then stayed to watch him, willing herself not to start crying. Instead, she sighed and looked away, to the broken glass lying on the ground. Carefully, she picked all of it up and threw it away, then got out of her clothes, immersed herself in hot water, letting it run down her back, closing her eyes too.

In the past two days, her life had, again, been turned upside down. Again, she was pregnant, again, the person she loved was hurt. She took a deep breath.

Yet something was different, much different this time.

Despite all the threats and the lies, Sansa knew that she was loved, unconditionally, for who she was over who she could be, shortcomings and flaws together, and she knew that she was safe. The Lannisters may still be able to reach out and hurt her, but she, too, had gained something valuable : the ability to fight back.

Once she had been a child, scared and alone, and now she was carrying her own; and if there was one thing that Cersei Lannister taught her, it was that women protected their litter at all costs, against all odds, without reason, without care. They attacked, viciously, going head first into battle, all to protect their children. Cersei was defending her eldest, and she had been winning so far, but all of that had changed when a certain stick had turned blue.

When Sansa stepped out of the shower, she was anew, and she was as determined as Cersei ever was.

“So we're having a baby, huh ?” Oberyn asked her as she walked back into their bedroom, smiling faintly.

Once again, she climbed into bed next to him, pushing her hair out of her face.

“Yeah.” she answered softly.

“No longer wondering what we're going to do.”

“No.” Her smile grew on its own, and she lay under the covers, her body against her husband's. “I know exactly what we're going to do.”

 


	16. Chapter 16

The house was silent: Oberyn was upstairs, sleeping, Doran was reading on the balcony, Daemon was out finding them dirt on the Lannisters, and Arielle was out grocery shopping, which made for a very quiet afternoon for Sansa.

Her mind, however, was far from quiet.

She'd slipped to the library a few hours ago to retrieve a box she had been thinking about for days, now – a very particular box, old and rundown and almost broken, but a very valuable one nonetheless. So far, she hadn't had the heart to open it yet, but she knew she needed to do so in order to move forward with their plan.

Which she still thought was a particularly dangerous plan, but out of the four of them, she was by far the least experienced at retribution – maybe dangerous was what they needed to finally be free.

First, they needed proof. Concrete evidence of wrongdoing. That was why she was here, looking at this box.

Secondly, once they had proof enough to build an unassailable case, they'd present to two lawyers. Doran and Oberyn's personal lawyer and friend to the family first, then one of King's Landing's top lawyers – although very underrated in Sansa's and Doran's opinion -, Tyrion Lannister. The plan, apparently, was getting to see if he would protect his family, or finally break free from their grasp. She'd met Tyrion more than once, and he had always been kind to her, although she had tried very hard to keep away from him: everytime that he had looked at her, she almost could feel him reading her like an open book, and, at the time, she had been very concerned about keeping Joffrey a secret.

Thirdly, their case, their proof, was to find its way into the press as well as to the police, and let the chips fall where they may – hopefully with some Lannisters in jail, or forced to abdicate.

Of course, the whole affair had to remain as quiet as possible, so not to wake Cerei or her father's suspiscions, and, even though Sansa had not repealed her words, she had taken a step down from her association – it had broken her heart, but she was trying to keep everyone safe – and had not appeared in public since. She was still going to see Clarissa quite often anyway, as the doctor had devised a prenatal care plan for Sansa that required them to meet regularly, if only just to talk.

Oberyn seemed quite taken with the idea of having a child, and, when he was well enough, he would spend hours on his phone and/or computer to research pregnancy, or reading pregnancy books he'd found online. He and Sansa often spent time in bed talking about it, talking about making a room, putting together a crib, whether or not Sansa should breastfeed – Sansa turned beet red everytime, and Oberyn made the same joke everytime – and if they should think about preschools and schools right away.

Sansa was excited to see her husband excited, and she had been excited when she had seen how excited Mya, Myranda and Arielle had been, but Doran had been another story. He had lifted an eyebrow, looked pointedly at his brother, chuckled and told them they were making a mistake.

“Maybe we are, brother,” Oberyn had told him, putting his hand on his brother's shoulder, “but it's a mistake you're going to experience with us.”

Sansa was glad to be having a child, but she couldn't help but remember the first baby she had carried, albeit for a short time and without knowing it, but – she wondered if was going to lose this one too, if the first one had been due to her or due to Joffrey's .. _rough_ handling, if the miscarriage was going to lead her into a difficult, painful pregnancy.

Clarissa had done her best to ease her mind, but Sansa was still worried, and she wasn't sure if she tell Oberyn about to fears or not. After all, he was still in convalescence. He was doing much, much better, finally able to walk without wanting to puke, but he was still fragile, still in pain. She wanted to help him, not hinder him farther.

And yet, this behaviour she wanted to adopt, her first thought on the matter, was exactly the behaviour she hated on Oberyn. Keeping quiet to protect others, and not behind truthful with them almost broke her marriage, not to long ago either. Keeping it from her husband was hypocritical, and even though she might not want to, she knew she'd tell Oberyn, and soon.

She sighed.

The box was still sitting in front of her, untouched, the dust that was once on top of it displaced around the table, lock still in place with the key laying before it. Opening it was harder than she thought it would be, not only because this was the last of her parents' stuff, but also because she knew exactly what it contained, amidst other trinkets : another key, one she had never had the guts to find the lock it opened, smaller and shinier. The last Stark secret.

She took a deep breath.

The library was eerily quiet, and only the sound of Sansa randomly moving could be witnessed in the room. Then, all of a sudden, taken by some impulse she couldn't explain, she took the key and opened the box.

Knowing the contents of the box and seeing them in front of her eyes, she found, were two very different things. It opened with a stale smell, disrupting the dust and the quiet, and suddenly, Sansa was faced with her past in a very private way. Biting back a sob and some tears, she slowly took each item out and arranged them on the table.

Her last doll, a gift of her father's when they first got to King's Landing – which she'd almost snickered at, considering she hadn't played with dolls for years -, her mom's engagement ring in a small velvet box, barely shining, a red scarf that belonged to Robb, a pair of baby Rickon's shoes, his very first, Arya's school timetable, notes left on the fridge, pictures she was able to gather throughout the house, with or without the frames. Junk, almost all of it, broken or rundown or even just garbage – and yet each item tore a hole in Sansa's heart. She fought through her emotions to get to the last item this box contained; an item she had forgotten about for a long time, pushed away in her mind until she absolutely had needed it, something the Lannisters didn't know existed, something nobody but Sansa knew existed : a key to a safe deposit box, given to her by her father the night before he had died.

She remembered it like it was yesterday, her father waking her up in the middle of the night, leaning over her bed, brandishing the key.

“Keep it hidden,” he'd told her, in a hushed voice, 'tell no one about it. And, when the time has come, find it. Open it.”

His exact words, his posture, his tone of voice – she remembered it all exactly as it had happened, even years after. Ned Stark knew he was going to die.

And he knew she was going to survive him.

There was no biting back her tears now, and so she let them fall freely. She should have begged him to take them all back to Winterfell that same night, leave everything behind and run. But she'd been so scared … She hadn't known he would be going directly to the King with his information, hadn't known that the Lannisters did know, that they would stop his car, with her mom in it, that they would disguise what happened as an accident. They should have run, run for the hills and hide there for the rest of their lives.

That was easy to say, now. Easier to imagine, too.

They would have trouble reajusting the first few days, of course; but soon enough everyone would have found its place in the family rhythm, the same one they had before the move. Her dad would have gone back to running the estate, her mom the house - and everywhere they would have gone, Robb and Sansa would have followed; Jon would have been back to the forest, the caves and the hills, Bran back to climbing, Arya back to her 'dance' teacher (although Sansa didn't know who they were trying to fool by calling it dancing, everyone knew Arya didn't dance), and Rickon would have been back to being able to grow up free, surrounded, loved.

With a last mental image of them all together, Sansa opened her eyes, wiped the tears from her cheeks. That had been a nice reverie, imagining her bothers, her sister, her parents happy once again; nice imagining how she would have grown up, the life she would have led, the man she would have married. The lessons she would never have had to learn.

Softly, she slid a hand across her stomach.

Had things gone that way, she would never have met Oberyn, never would have been bearing this child, this precious little life inside of her. She would never have known what it meant, what it felt like, to be happy with the both of them in her heart.

Sighing, she shook herself back to reality, back to now, back to the key resting in her hand.

Besides, it's not like the Lannisters wouldn't have found them wherever they went. It's not like they would have stopped, just because the Starks had moved. They would still have known. They would still have remembered.

Well, Sansa knew and remembered now. And now was the time for her to do something, stop them from ever coming after her family again.

One by one, she put the items back in the box, softly and lovingly, bidding them a silent goodbye until she was ready to say hello again, and locked it shut, put it back on a shelf. The two keys went with her, and, without a second glance – or else she probably wouldn't have been able to leave – Sansa walked out of the library and into the living-room.

Doran wasn't on the balcony anymore, and she could hear him laugh with his brother on the floor above – smiling to herself, she listened to the sound of them speaking without being able to hear the words. She let him warm her, focus her : this was her family, broken down and considerably smaller than her previous one, but precious and loving all the same.

The sound of a door opening and closing made her open her eyes, and she turned her head to watch Daemon enter the room.

“Miss Sansa.” he greeted her, and she nodded in return.

“Daemon.”

Grabbing her jacket, she put it on as she spoke.

“I need you to come with me.”

Frowning, he looked from her to the sound upstairs, wordlessly inqiring if he should follow her.

“Or you could go tell them I left on my own.” she continued, taking her bag and leaving the room. “Up to you.”

Looking back at her, he nodded, following her out the door.

 

All her courage disappeared as soon as Daemon and her entered the bank.

It was a tall old building, and the inside was as impressive as the outside – high ceiling, stone arches, collumns. There was an air of awe that hit you as you came inside, a sense of quiet and calm. No at all what she had been expecting, and so grand, so far from what she had been expecting of her father. Swallowing hard, she made her way to one of the desks, her heels clicking on the marble floors.

“Good afternoon and welcome to the Grand Northern Bank, how can I help you today ?”

The woman behind the counter was all smiles, prim and proper, with not a hair not in place. She intimitaded Sansa very much.

“I'm here to get into my safe,” she explained, ignoring the slightest shift in Daemon's body.

She hadn't told him where they were going, why they were going there, only the address (which was half of everything she knew, but he didn't know that) and that he would need to wait for her in the lobby.

“Of course. May I see some I.D, as well as your key ?”

Nodding, Sansa produced the two items for the woman to examine them both, then followed her to another room. Her safe deposit box was put before her, and the two women opened it together, turning both Sansa's key and the bank's key at the same time. Now that it was open, Sansa was left alone to examine her second box of the day, although she had no idea what this one contained. One the one hand, she wanted to spill everything into a bag and just go home, on the other, she wanted to take her time here, find out what she wanted to show Oberyn and Doran and what she didn't. Then she pushed open the top of the box to reveal the contents inside.

It was surprizingly barren, with only a letter, a few papers a two huge files, and what looked like a hard drive in it. She recognized her father's handwriting instantly, but took longer to settle down enough to start reading the letter. She, however, only got to the second sentence before she felt tears coming, and, not wanting to cry here and have to face people afterwards, she took everything, crammed it into her bag, and left.

Daemon was waiting patiently in the lobby, and fell into step with her as she made her way out the door.

“Mr. Oberyn called. He was wondering where you were.”

“You told him ?” she inquired, her voice drained of all emotion.

Daemon shook his head. “I told him _you_ would explain.”

“Thank you.”

That was it, the only words they spoke for the entire trip back – Sansa came home, ignored Doran watching her pass, immediately walking to her room, took off her shoes and jacket and put her bag to the ground, then got ino bed with her husband.

 

* * *

 

 

Oberyn had woken, in the middle of the afternoon, tired, but free of shrill pain – which was, by ay means, a victory in his book. Looking around him, he found himself on his own, without either Sansa or Doran hovering around him, even from afar, and he sighed with contentment. He loved them both to bits, without question, but it had been long since he had needed to watched so closely at all hours of the day or the night.

Gingerly testing his muscles in order not to wake his pain, Oberyn very slwoly and very gradually sat up and got up from the bed and started towards the bathroom. He hadn't taken a shower, a real shower, in a while – doctor's orders – and he wanted to enjoy his moment of peace under warm water. He waddled on his feet, still not very confident on them yet, and chuckled to himself as he imagined his wife, belly bulging, walking like this.

Finally reaching the shower stall, Oberyn engulfed himself in it and reveled under the sweet pressure and the warm water. Washing himself, however, presented a challenge : he couldn't lean too much forwards or backwards, nor could he keep his arms up for long; in the end, he took turns in leaning sideways, took weird poses, sat for a while to wash his hair, and moved around the stall, laughing at his own silliness. It took, in total, about an hour and a half between sitting up, getting undressed, into the shower, and dressed back up and into bed – a record he would have thought he could only break with his wife there and not away.

He was sitting on the edge of the bed when Doran got in.

“Good, you're alive,” his brother teased him. “I thought you'd drowned.”

Oberyn rolled his eyes.

“And you came up to rescue me, is that it ?”

“Mh. That or laugh at you, I wasn't yet sure.”

The two men laughed, and Doran then peered at his brother.

“How are you feeling ?”

Oberyn sighed. “Like you all need to stop asking me that question.”

He watched as his brother shook his head, rolled his eyes.

“In that case,” Doran went on, “let me ask you about this baby of yours.”

“Doran-”

His brother held both hands up to soothe him.

“I'm not going to try and persuade you to stop this now even though I do think it's a foolish endeavour – I'm just asking if you're certain you know what you're doing.”

Thinking about it quietly, Oberyn slowly got up and moved around.

“It's a gamble, of course it is,” he started after a few moments of silent reflection, “but Sansa wants this baby, and I confess I'm rather excited about it as well.”

Doran chuckled heartily.

“Now that's something I had never imagined you saying, little brother.”

Sitting back down and putting his hand on his brother's shoulder, Oberyn grinned.

“I love you, brother. And I'm probably going to need your wise counsel for years to come,-”

“ _Probably_ ?”

“- so you need to get on board with this pregnancy. Sansa cannot do it without me, and _I_ cannot do it without _you_.”

Doran put his hand over his brother's and squeezed it.

“As long as I don't have to change dirty diapers all day long, I think I can get on board with the idea of a mini-Oberyn whom I'll be able to educate better than I did regular Oberyn.”

Oberyn snorted, and both men laughed, only interrupted by the sound of the door opening and closing downstairs.

“Ah. That would be Daemon coming back – I should go and see what he's found.”

A few minutes later, Doran was back, alone.

“It appears I was mistaken. There's no one downstairs.”

Oberyn frowned. “Where's Sansa ?”

His brother answered with a shrug, and Oberyn reached for his phone, looking if Sansa had sent him a text explaining where she was – nothing. He called up Daemon, and he, too, gave him nothing, if only that he knew where she was and that he was with her. His only solution was to wait.

And wait he did.

Maybe a half hour later, he was working on his computer when his wife entered the room, eyes red and looking more tired than usual – he shut his computer off at once, and she settled against his good side.

“You okay, little wife ?”

She shook her head wordlessly against his shirt. Trying to make her feel better, he kissed her head, and held her close – when she was ready, she would tell him about it. The only problem was that he fell asleep – only slightly, though – as he waited.

When he woke, she was sitting opposite him, and they were seperated by an old wodden box as well as a few papers, files, and a hard drive.

“What's all this ?” he asked her, sitting up right.

She sighed, avoiding his gaze.

“This is what I've been doing today.”

Piqued by his curiosity, Oberyn frowned slightly, barely containing it in. He watched as her hand hovered over the box first, as though she wasn't entirely sure about this, and he knew he should have told her that it was okay if she wanted to keep it to herself, but he couldn't – he felt fascinated by the box, and he wanted to know what was in it. When it was finally opened, both his eyebrows shot up.

“This is mostly junk,” she explained, “but that's all I have left of home.”

She let out a shaky sigh, and, on instinct, his arms spread and she took refuge between them instantly.

“Tell me about it.”

“Later, maybe,” she whispered, sniffling, “but first, I need to talk to you about the key.”

Following her gaze, he noticed a small, shiny key sitting on the bed. Taking it between his fingers, Oberyn recognized the model almost immediately.

“You have a safe deposit box ?” he inquired, incredulous.

“It was my father's.”

She sat up straighter, looking at him.

“He put it under my name, though, to make sure it wouldn't show up on any search of his estate. He told me about it the night before -”

She bit her lip, and he rubbed her arm; but she shook her shoulders and cleared her throat, clearly pushing away her emotions, and Oberyn felt a pang in his heart. He wished so hard to go back in time and spare her all that pain, even if it meant never marrying her in the process.

“Anyway, I went to the bank and retrieved what he'd left there for me.”

“What has he left for you ?” Oberyn asked, wondering.

She shrugged. “I don't know, I haven't – I wanted to do it here. With you.”

Filled with a sudden rush of warmth and love, he leaned forward and kissed her forehead.

“I love you,” he reminded her, “I'll be here if you need anything.”

She nodded, then took up the letter first.

 

* * *

 

 

 _My dear daughter,_ it started, _it seems as though our paths are soon separating. I wish we could all leave this place, I wish I could protect you from what's to come – but as you have already learnt in the most vile way possible, it looks like I am utterly unable to help and protect you. But know this, Sansa : had I known it earlier, I would have never let you meet the boy. In fact, I would have never let you, or any of us, leave home._

_But the deed is done and now time is of the essence._

_You will find in this box everything I have left to give you, our house, our money, our name; I have put failsafes in place to make sure the estate is as whole when you read this as it is now that I am writing it. I hope you will find this letter as soon as possible, and that you are safe, and that you are free from these monsters; but unfortunately I already know that I will not be with you. I already know none of us will be with you._

_And so, my eldest daughter, you are the only Stark left – they already have your brothers and sister. I hope the trade I've offered them will give them back to us, you, your mother and I; but if I am writing this, right now, it's because I already know it won't be enough._

_Everything I have, everything I was able to find out on the boy, his mother, his (real) father, and his grandfather is in those files you see before you, as well as all the papers you will need to claim what is yours. On the hard drive, however, is something you will need but I hope no one will ever watch it, or you relive it again – proof. Evidence of what the Lannister child has done to you. Evidence of what his family tried to hide, and evidence that they knew about it._

_It is my greatest hope that you will never need it, but here it is anyway._

_I don't have much more time, so let me simply end this on a happier note._

_I love you, my daughter, with all my heart. My failure burns me deeply, but the fact that you are still standing, still able to forgive despite everything reassures me on the kind of person you will grow up to be : kind, and strong. Flawed and cracked, maybe, but human despite it all._

_You will one day, should you ever wish to, make an amazing wife, and an even more amazing mother._

_I wish you all the courage in the world for the dark times ahead, but I know you will prevail._

_I love you._

_Your father._

 

* * *

 

 

The next thing she knew, she was in tears, a sobbing mess, clinging to her husband.

It took a while before she was able to speak, able to do anything but sniffle and wipe tears and hiccup in sadness and shock – and Oberyn waited patiently, rubbing her back and kissing her head, reading the letter as she pushed it to his chest.

Once she was recovered, he gently pushed her, hid the box that contained her family item under the bed – she heard his groan as he leaned forward – and pushed himself up.

“Come on,” he extended a hand towards her, “let's get you some food.”

“I'm not hungry,” she protested, wiping her eyes.

“Little wife,” he pushed her hand towards her again, “you're carrying our child. Have you eaten lunch yet ?”

She looked down. “No,” she whispered, the tip of her ears warming in embarassement.

“Well, neither have I, and I'm famished.”

He grinned as she took his hand, then started to lead her downstairs.

 

They ate in silence at first, the memory of her father's letter too fresh in her mind, but her smiles and her laugh became easier as time went on and Oberyn made a point to entertain her, first by cooking, then cracking jokes throughout dinner.

Doran and Daemon had left a little earlier despite the invitation to stay and eat, and the couple were once again alone in their house. Everything, if one forgot about the bomb still in their bed, seemed to fall back into place nicely, and as they ate dessert, they were able to forget the drama altogether and focus on their future baby.

“I've been thinking,” she told Oberyn out of the blue, “about leaving King's Landing.”

Oberyn frowned. “What ?”

“Not forever, just -” she bit her lip, “during the pregnancy. I don't want to be here.”

“Where would we go ?”

“Well,” she teased, “I would suggest Winterfell, but you'd probably freeze.”

Oberyn grimaced, making his wife laugh.

“Let's go back to Dorne. Your villa.” she whispered, squeezing his hand over the table. “We were happy there. No drama.”

Getting up, Oberyn circled the table, sitting next to his wife, who clutched him closer.

“What about the association ? Your doctor ?”

She shrugged.

“I'm not part of it anymore, and in any case it wouldn't be forever. And aren't there doctors in Dorne ?”

“What about my company ?” he was smiling now, and Sansa knew he was already agreeing to moving, happily so, too.

“Well technically, your headquarters are in Sunspear, so ...”

She fiddled with his t-shirt, and they exchanged smiles.

“I don't want our baby to be born here, Oberyn.”

“Hey, you're preaching to the choir, little wife. You want to leave ? Let's pack up and leave. Tonight.”

Sansa laughed.

“Well, maybe not so fast, but -”

She was interrupted by a kiss on the nose.

“Okay. Here's what we'll do, then -” Oberyn stated, sitting up straight. “We're getting your estate back, we're meeting with our respective doctors, and then we take everything and we go home.”

“Sounds good. And, husband ?”

“Hmm ?” Oberyn turned to her, waiting.

“I love you.”

Grinning, her husband leaned in to kiss her. Their lips met hesitantly at first, but soon, they were body against body, breathing hard and fast.

“I love you too,” he breathed as they fell apart.

 


	17. Chapter 17

Here they were again, she thought, amusing herself as she realized just how much and how little things had changed in the meantime – Dorne. Rather, more accurately, Oberyn's estate in the middle of the Red Mountains. The view was still spectacular, the staff was still kind, the estate still vast and secluded and in bloom, and yet, despite the fact that she felt as frightened and excited and thankful as she did on her first trip here, she marveled at how much things had changed. She was happy, she was healthy, she was pregnant, she was in love.

The one thing she had forgotten about and still had trouble with was the heat, and the absence of air. She closed her eyes, glad to be shielded from the sun, and thanked the Gods under her breath that Winter was coming.

They hadn't left King's Landing in a hurry, but had rather lingered there for a while longer. After all, Oberyn's doctor had insisted on more recovery time without too much movement, and Clarissa had wanted them to wait until Sansa would stop throwing up everything she ate (or didn't eat) every day, until she could get them a due date and listen to the baby's heartbeat. By the time they were both given the official medical okay to move, Sansa was fourteen weeks pregnant and Oberyn's scar had begun to fade, and didn't hurt him anymore.

They were also quite richer in both money and assets, as the three of them, Sansa, Oberyn and Doran, had taken Ned Stark's papers to the Martell family notary, and gained back not only the Winterfell estate (empty but untouched), but also the King's Landing house and her mother's cottage in what used to be the Riverlands, as well as everything that was left of her parents' bank account that they had transferred before the 'accident'. In short and in theory, Sansa no longer needed to rely on her husband for money, as she was now quite well-off. She didn't, however, wanted to touch that money, and so they had left it in the account; their child would benefit from it one day, but Sansa refused to take it for herself.

Both her husband and her brother-in-law were very amused about how quickly the press had shifted in her favor after this, and their family was once again invited to all the parties, to all the dinners, to all the charity events. Doran also amused them all by fancying out loud all the ways that the Lannister family had taken those news – his rendition of the Queen tearing out her hair and shouting 'Vengeance!' 'Lawsuit!' 'Compensation!' had all of them in tears of laughter (Sansa almost and very nearly peed her pants).

 

* * *

 

Needing to empty the King's Landing house had been much less funny – Sansa refused to keep it – but she had taken her courage and did so one week, deciding on what stayed and what went, movers bustling around the rooms of the main floor – she hadn't had the courage to go up to the rooms until later – carrying furniture and carpets and rugs and art. Almost everything had gone to charity, small appliances (coffee maker, tea maker, microwave oven, fridge) had gone to the association she missed so dearly, and what little had been left had either been given to the movers or had gone to the bin.

She had kept what few pictures they had taken in the capital, and some worthless trinkets brought over from Winterfell or bought here and left in a corner – a keychain Arya had bought on impulse that honked louly when squeezed, for example –.

She had still been holding it in her hand when the door had opened and Sansa's worst nightmare had walked in, closely followed by two of his goons.

 _Joffrey Lannister_.

Upon impulse, Sansa had taken a step back, panic rising in her throat. Him being here with _friends_ meant nothing good for her, it never did.

“Well, look who we have here.”

She hadn't seen him since – her breath hitched – since the night her mother had had to take her to the hospital. Truthfully, she hadn't expected to see him ever again. Him being there now had been making her palms sweat and her knees shake.

“It's the new and improved Sansa Stark.”

She had wanted to speak, she had wanted to exude calm and serenity, but all she had been able to do was try and make herself as quiet and invisible as possible – despite her being in the middle of a room and Joffrey had clearly been locked on her. She had bitten back a sob, and had shivered from head to toe.

She had tried to remind herself of who she was, what she accomplished; and yet all she could do was quake in fear.

“Now, isn't that a treat ?”

He had taken a step forward, she had taken another step back. Her hands had been shaking.

She'd watched him turn to his two shadows – Meryn Trant and Janos Slynt, the merry band of bodyguards without a conscience or a heart – and had barked at them to wait at the door.

“And make sure no one disturbs us.” He had turned to Sansa, giving her a wink. “We've much to catch up on, don't we ?”

Her first instinct had been to run for it while he was still on the other end of the room, and his two bodyguards walking away; her second had been to call Oberyn; her third had been to start crying and collapse upon herself. She had had the time to do none of those things, though – Joffrey's attention was on her, and he had been watching her like a hawk. She couldn't even look at him in the eyes. Something had been rolling on her cheek, something salty – a tear ?

“A little birdie told me you were back home-” Another step forward, but this time she didn't move, frozen in fear. There was something in his voice, in his tone, and she was brought back to all those days of terror and pain and shame. Her knees locked together automatically. “- and I just _had_ to come see.”

He was closer to her than he'd been in years, and she could start to smell this horrible aftershave of his – not that it smelled bad per se, just that he'd been wearing it consistently throughout their relationship –, the scent of it making her skin goosebump.

“Did you miss me ?”

She fought against the urge to close her eyes and cover her face. She stared at the ground beneath his feet. The house was silent, and she wondered where all her movers had gone.

“Answer me !” he exclaimed and she quivered in terror.

Another moment of silence, another step forward, and suddenly she was within grabbing distance. _Say yes_ , she pleaded with herself, _say yes. Court him, beg for forgiveness, throw yourself at his feet. Survive._

“No,” she finally responded, the sound barely over a whisper.

 _Crap_.

She was yanked by the hair, forced to look at him in the eyes, held halrshly. She whimpered.

“I'm going to kill you. You know that, right ?”

She could see the light in his eyes, the moving hatred and the glee – and her heart gave a bang.

“You're not walking out of here alive.”

He was smiling, and all she wanted to do was puke.

 _Quick_ , her brain clicked and worked faster than she thought possible, _get yourself out of this. Not for yourself, not for your husband, but for the child inside of you_.

“Kill me.” she told him. “Go ahead. But be warned that it may end up broadcasted on all channels when you get home.”

He frowned, and she looked up at a security camera pointed directly at them. He let go of her immediately, looking around the room for more, growling with frustration. They weren't working – they had never worked, actually – but he didn't know that. Sansa fell to her knees as he let go of her hair, and she scrambled to get on her feet and run away from his grasp; she used his distraction to make her way up the stairs, locked herself up in her old bedroom. With shaky hands and a wild heart, she crawled into a dark corner, and cried uncontrollably, sobs raking her whole body.

 

It took her a long time to calm down, especially since she was trying to make as little noise as possible. She had hid into her old closet, knees to her chest, head hidden between her arms.

Rationally, she knew this was not the position she should have been in – she should have let herself space to breathe, she knew that; but she so badly wanted to hide and not be found that she couldn't stop from moulding herself into a ball, trying desperately to blend to the walls.

She did not hear her phone when it rang, she did not listen to the messages that were left – she braved against the waves of fear and shame and panic that followed her after every meeting with Joffrey and let them crush her into the ground. Eventually, it became easier to breathe; and yet she felt icky, and disgusting. She wiped her eyes, wiped her chin, and looked down at her palms to see them striped in lipstick pink and mascara black, but wasn't there something underneath ? She tried to remove the stains with her fingers, but the colours only grew, why did the colours grew ? Still rubbing, moaning in frustration, Sansa got up to the bathroom, trying to turn on the faucet, but she was leaving stains everywhere on the porcelain and on the steel. It was dripping from her, even on the floor, and she whimpered anxiously, looking around herself for a towel, for some cloth to wipe it all away, and her eyes focused on the shower. She ran to it, stumbling on the floor – by now, she couldn't see through the tears that wouldn't stop coming.

There was an unpleasant shrill in her ears, and the sound of water dripping first, then cascading down her chest did not help. She was in a bubble, and nothing mattered but the cleansing of her skin. The water was freezing, but Sansa wiped and rubbed and cleared off her hands, her arms, her face, her eyes, her chin. Everything stung, and her hair was sticking to her face, but still she was dirty. No matter how hard she rubbed, no matter how long, how vigorously. She sobbed, water pouring over her head as she was kneeling on the shower floor, wondering if it was ever going to come off, if she was always going to be unclean. She shivered, her whole body trembling. And then, suddenly, something shook her.

Another shiver, possibly – she paid it no mind. She rubbed the back of her hand with her thumb, using the nail when the stain wouldn't come off – but her wrists were bound by two hands. When she looked up, she saw, through water and tears, her husband's face. He was saying something, and his hands left her for a second before coming back. The water had stopped, but still she shivered. His mouth moved again, but she couldn't make out the words. She tried to push him away, crying hysterically, not wanting to get him dirty, too.

“I have to get clean,” she exclaimed. “I have to scrub it off.”

She was trying to get her arms back, but he still held on to her wrists.

“Sansa, tell me what's wrong.”

He was using his business tone, he was trying to get something from her, and all she could do was pull on her arms to get them away from him.

“Let me go. Let me go !”

She was screaming, now, but still she was held – she was pulled to him, not forcefully, but decidedly; she wanted to refuse, she wanted to resist, but he kissed her head and told her he loved her, clean or unclean. She closed her eyes, her chest raked by a sob, then another; the next thing she knew, she was held against his body, warm and soft and vibrant and clean – she grabbed onto him with everything she had in her, crying as she was rocked, his arms around her waist, pulling her in.

“I'm sorry,” she sobbed, and he was shaking his head. “I'm so sorry.”

 

 

The first thing her husband did as they got home was draw her a warm, inviting bath, and he washed her from head to toe tenderly, holding her and coddling her.

Now that she had calmed down, she realized how stupid she had been, how crazy she must have looked; and yet Oberyn said nothing and simply took care of her. She looked at him for a long time as he moved around her, and as he settled near her and kissed her forehead, she told him :

“You're going to be an amazing father.”

He seemed surprised for a second before he smiled.

“Don't try to seduce me, Sansa Stark.”

Unable to stop herself, Sansa rolled her eyes and smiled, too.

“I thought I already had.”

Oberyn chuckled.

“Yes, you certainly have.”

Slowly, he leaned forward and went in for a kiss, which she eagerly replied to, sliding a palm on his nape. The two of them stayed locked together for a while, kissing lightly, sweetly, breathing in each other's rhythm and scent, until Oberyn pulled away to look at her. When she looked up, too, Sansa found a worry in his eyes that she didn't like – he was scared.

“What happened this afternoon, little wife ?”

Ashamed, Sansa bit her lips and looked away, but her husband brought her back to his gaze with two fingers on her chin.

“Tell me.”

His order didn't feel like one, it certainly didn't have the tone, but she knew she wasn't getting away with anything.

“Joffrey was there.”

Oberyn stilled, his features fell, and immediately Sansa saw anger light up his eyes.

“Don't,” she said, trying to keep him close, trying to stop him from becoming too angry, but he quickly moved away from her, standing back up and pacing away.

“I'm not doing anything,” he protested under his breath.

“No, but you have murder in your eyes.”

“Of course I have - !” he suddenly exclaimed, making Sansa jump back, hitting the other end of the tub.

Noticing it, he cursed, and walked back to the tub where she still sat.

“I'm sorry,” he breathed.

Slowly, she moved towards him, sliding both hands around his shoulders and neck. She kissed him again, not wanting, not needing to say anything else, wishing to reassure her husband without words. She could still feel him tensing up, though, so she guided one of his palms across her stomach to come rest on her heart.

“I'm here,” she whispered to him against his skin. “I'm okay. Yes, I was scared, and yes, I may have lost my marbles a little, there. But I'm okay. I made it through.”

“You scared the crap out of me, little wife.”

“I'm sorry.”

Oberyn shook his head.

“Don't. It isn't your fault. You should never apologize.”

 

* * *

 

Since then, Sansa had had trouble going out of her house on her own, while her husband had had more trouble leaving her on her own at all; between his constant presence and Daemon following her everywhere as soon as she set foot out the door, this had been the first time in a while being alone, looking at the horizon like this. Below her spread Oberyn's estate, and beyond that was a thin forest of alconorques with only one road going in or out of the estate. It was quieter than she remembered it being, simply because it was much too hot even for Dornishmen to be out in the sun at this hour. She inhaled deeply, closing her eyes. She had missed the song of the cicadas and the slow wind ruffling the trees. This was peace personified by land – she couldn't wait for her child to be born here.

She was already showing nicely, and, apart from the quite violent morning sickness and the growing of her uterus on her bladder causing her to pee every hour almost on the dot, she had had very little pain so far, and Clarissa had assured her that everything was going well. Idly, she slid her palm across her belly, smiling to herself. So far, the only downside to being pregnant had been the ice cream restriction – she desperately craved a salted toffee sundae.

A hand joined hers on her stomach as Oberyn walked up to her, kissed the tip of her ear.

“How are my wife and child ?” he whispered against her.

Leaning back against him, Sansa sighed in contentment, smiling and closing her eyes. She heard her husband chuckle.

“That’s what a man likes to hear.”

He kissed her again below her ear, then her jaw, her neck, making her shiver in delight.

“You know,” he added, softly, “a little birdie told me I was good as new. Ready to get back to ...” another kiss on her neck, “… my husband duties.”

His hands were on her belly, which wiggled slightly as Sansa laughed.

“Is that an ivitation, Mr. Martell ?”

“Actually, it was more of a fair warning.”

Suddenly, but gently, Oberyn lifted her up in his arms and turned around as his wife couldn’t stop laughing. He made his way to their bed, only a few feet away, raining kisses down on her face. She landed flat on her back against the mattress, taking Oberyn down with her, as the kisses became less about quantity and more about quality.

It had been a while since the two of them had done more than kissing between the baby and the operation, but she found that her body had not forgotten how it felt – in only a few seconds, it responsed with a vigor and an energy she never knew she had, taking off his shirt with greedy fingers, tongue agaisnt tongue, her husband leaning down on her. The only problem was – _someone_ didn’t like it, and made it known.

“Stop, stop,” she told Oberyn breathlessly, pushing him away with both palms on his chest.

“What’s wrong ?”

He was frowning as he sat back, and Sansa hurriedly wiggled out of the bed to almost run to the bathroom.

“I gotta pee !” she exclaimed, making her husband roar with laughter.

 

When she came out of the bathroom a minute or so later, she found Oberyn sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Sorry,” she said, sheepishly. “You were pressing down on me, and he was pressing down on my bladder in protest.”

Oberyn’s eyebrow lifted.

“He ?”

“Just a feeling.” she clarified, walking to him, sliding her hands around his shoulders.

He put his on her lower back, gently pulling her forward until she was seated on his lap, straddling him, the only space between the two of them used to accommodate their future child in her belly.

“What about you ?” she wondered out loud. “Did you think about it ?”

“About the sex ? Well, I think about ours, but -”

She playfully punched him on the shoulder as he laughed.

“No. I haven’t thought about it.” He kissed her sweetly. “I only know that I want them to look like you.” Another small kiss as Sansa smiled. “Because you’re the most beautiful person I have ever met.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” she whispered.

“Will it get me in your pants ?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Good.”

They started kissing again, slow and sweet, as only two people who knew each other well could kiss – Sansa was transported out of her skin and into the stars, holding onto her husband for dear life.

 


	18. Chapter 18

About the size of an average carrot, at least in length.

That was a weird way to think about a baby, right ? Size of a vegetable ?

Sansa hadn't been able to keep it out of her mind – she was sitting outside, under a parasol, watching the sun set, stroking her belly slowly. Oberyn had stayed in Sunspear for the last week, taking care of the company, and Doran and Daemon had gone with him : which meant she had been alone in the villa for the last six days. She had given time off to the members of their staff, hoping to get some thinking done quietly.

The last thing she had done with someone had been the day the last of their staff had left, forty-eight hours earlier : a visit to her OBGYN, where she had been told her child wasn't unlike a piece of food.

Between then and now, Sansa had been quietly enjoying the peace, trying not to be driven wild by the thoughts racing around in her head. Even now, as she sat, holding a glass of lemonade in her hand, stroking with the other, she tried not to panic at the idea that she was only four short months away from giving birth to her first child.

She'd been told the sex, too; news that she hadn't yet shared with her husband. Nor with anyone, for that matter. The news had been hers and hers alone. Despite her best tries at not coming up with names, she had caved in, easily.

 

They had bought a crib a few weeks earlier, and the two of them had spent a whole day putting it together; they had decided on a room, on furniture. It seemed, then, as though the big decisions had been made. Now they simply had to wait four more months.

Sansa was healthy, and that continually surprised her – and everything was in tip-top shape in her belly, too. She was following her pre-natal care plan to the letter, listening to her doctor's advice, making sure she had enough sleep, enough food, enough water. She was hoping it would be enough.

 

Truthfully, she’d been thankful to be alone for the last few days. Now, of course, she loved her family to bits; but she had felt the need to be alone, only just for a little while, grow over the past few months. Today had been one of the reasons why.

Oberyn had been reluctant to leave her behind, but he had been ignoring his duties for some time now, and Doran and Sansa had finally convinced him to leave for Sunspear last week-end, and he had finally gone and taken his brother and bodyguard with him. He had had Sansa promise she wouldn’t leave the house without her own bodyguards swarming around her, and she had happily done so, knowing she would probably not leave the villa anyway. After all, the only person she had needed to see was her doctor, and he made house calls.

She hadn’t planned on doing anything today, nothing but read, and walk a little around the gardens maybe, go for a swim, bake. She hadn’t planned on watching telly, check the internet. But her curiosity had gotten the best of her, and she had watched the whole thing, sitting on the couch and clinging to the life inside of her, gently swaying to keep from panicking.

The Royal Wedding.

Today, the whole nation had watched Margaery Tyrell become Queen of Westeros, wife of Joffrey Baratheon. Sansa had looked at her closely, but there had been no nerves, no fear, just calm and confidence.

Perhaps he had changed. Perhaps only she made him this way. She hoped, for Margaery’s sake, that the only reason he had been this way with Sansa had been that the problem had come from Sansa herself, not Joffrey. Gods, she hoped it were true.

She hadn’t expected to feel so bittersweet today. Watching Margaery walk down the aisle, her father walking with her, her brother and giggly cousins waiting for her to be man of honor and bridesmaids, respectively – that had been the hardest, for Sansa. She had shed her fair share of tears, remembering how it was supposed to be _her_ , and _her_ father, and _her_ brother and cousins. Of course, she didn’t cry for the groom – him she was happy to leave behind – or for the position Margaery was stepping into; but for the wedding itself.

She had imagined her own wedding, had she had a ‘proper’ one, to Oberyn. Her father shaking her future husband’s hand, Robb and Jon in tuxedos, threatening Oberyn with death if he did not treat her right, her mother fussing over her long white dress and her traditional cloak of grey and white, Arya, Bran and Rickon running everywhere and Arya ending up with a hole somewhere on her dress in the first ten minutes. Her family on one side, his on the other. The exchange of vows, the kiss, the celebration. Their first dance, and her dancing with her father, with her brothers, her uncle, her new husband again.

The reverie stopped as she heard Joffrey say “I do.” on television.

 

She felt much better now, she thought as she watched the sun set and felt the temperature start to drop slightly. After all, everything so far had turned into her favour with Oberyn. He loved her, he got her pregnant, made her a mother, gave her a home, a new pack. Who cared if she hadn’t had her perfect wedding, she had a near perfect life.

The only thing that still worried her was Cersei. Her father, too. They were not ones to forget slights against their family, and Sansa’s happiness was probably one; she was also, and again, rich, and powerful, even without her husband’s name. She had gotten her story out there, and steadily, since then, had the Lannister’s power decreased. That must not be sitting well with them, she thought, caressing her swollen belly.

Perhaps the wedding had done the trick. Perhaps they had pushed her aside in their brain. She didn’t think it likely, but she hoped.

She was growing tired of fighting.

She was also growing tired of her babys feet knocking against her organs.

“Will you stop kicking me, little one ?” she almost groaned. “It hurts.”

She heard a chuckle behind her and turned her head towards the sound.

“Doran !” she frowned. “What are you doing back ?”

“Hello to you too, my favourite sister.” he laughed as he wheeled up next to her.

She looked around.

“Is Oberyn home, too ?”

Doran shook his head.

“He hasn’t finished his work, but he was too worried about you to go on one more day without either of us coming back.”

He glanced at her belly.

“How’s my nephew ? My niece ?”

He had a glint in his eye that made Sansa smile.

“Nice try, but I’m not telling you anything until your brother knows. You’d only dangle it over his head.”

He laughed in agreement. “But it would be fun.”

“Only for you.”

“Well, it was worth a try anyway.”

“You should tell your brother to stop worrying.” she told Doran as she handed him a cool glass of lemonade. “I’ve pretty much not set foot out of this chair all week.”

Doran chuckled. “You’re carrying his first child, Sansa. I don’t think he could stop worrying, even if he locked you in a room and only he had the key.”

“Don’t give him any ideas, please.”

They went without talking for a while, Sansa petting her child and Doran massaging his bad knee, before she had the courage to ask :

“How do you feel about it ?”

“About the baby, you mean ?” He frowned, then sighed as he watched her nod in answer. “To be perfectly honest, Sansa, I’m still not quite sure how I feel about _you_.”

She cocked her head to the side in confusion. Doran had never told her that before, never even looked as though he might feel this way.

“Don’t get me wrong, I like you.” he reassured her, squeezing her knee quickly. “You’ve got guts. A steady head. You’re a warrior. All good qualities I like in a woman… And Oberyn is happy, which I never thought would happen. He’s always far too much in his head, wrapped in his insecurities. But you make him happy, you get him out of his head, when you can.”

Sensing a but coming, Sansa kept quiet. Doran sighed.

“But you scare the crap out of him. You distract him from his duties to his family. You put him in situations he would never have been in if not for you. You push him, both in a good and in a bad way.”

She hung her head down in shame, frowning. She had never thought about it like that.

“I always figured he’d end up alone with little old me, or with a torphy wife he could never have any romantic feelings for and only married for the sake of propriety and in need of an heir. Not once would I have thought he’d end up so in love that he wants to move mountains.”

“Is that a bad thing ?”

A finger on his chin, Doran appeared deep in thought.

“I think so.”

Turning to his sister in law, he continued :

“You have the potential to destroy him. You can’t ask me to be totally okay with that.”

Softly, Sansa answered :

“No, I can’t. I’m just glad he has you to protect and fight for him.”

She lifted her glass and they clinked, smiling at each other.

It was true, too, she thought, drinking. She was happy that Oberyn had someone in his corner, someone other than her, that would protect him in case something would go awry. She was happy to know that Doran would take care of him before he would even think about her; it certainly made things easier.

“You should go back and tell him I’m okay, and to quit worrying.”

“I will, tomorrow. But first, I’ll make us dinner.”

 

Doran had left the same way he had arrived the evening before : soundlessly, without warning; Sansa was once again alone in her own home.

She spent her morning lazily taking care of her body; first with the stretches she had been taught, then with a warm shower, and a clumsy attempt at waxing her legs. She had hoped the routine would allow her to think; however, her pregnant belly made the well-known moves very awkward. She couldn't bend as much, couldn't access the back of her legs (she did try, though, and somehow ended up on her back and on the floor, trapped like a turtle, and she had spent fifteen minutes getting back up). She tried using a floor-length mirror, but no dice. She gave up about an hour in and rinced and hydrated her skin.

Instead, she made herself a hearty lunch following the food list she'd been given by her doctor (of all the 'don't's, she missed cold meats and soft cheeses the most. Coffee she did fine without) of steamed veggies and salmon, with a side dish of fries, watched some dumb procedural cop show on telly while she ate, and spent her afternoon making a blanket made in dornish wool, softly talking to her belly, trying to recreate as minutely as possible her and Oberyn's family sigils in the middle of it.

It was a good day, a quiet day; and so were the days that followed.

 

That friday, Oberyn came home after two weeks away.

Sansa was waiting for him in the living-room, lightly bouncing on her feet in excitement, giddy to be seeing her husband again. They had talked on the phone almost everyday, but it hadn't felt the same – she couldn't wait to touch him, hold him.

He called out her name as soon as the door opened, and it was all Sansa could do not to run to him. She passed her head through the door frame, smiling widely, and was met with a slow kiss and a tight hug.

They stood in the foyer a while, in each other's embrace, getting reacquainted with one another.

“Gods, I missed you.” Sansa breathed.

“I've missed you too.” echoed Oberyn.

They stayed, hugging, for a long time, before Oberyn moved, grabbing his wife's dress and throwing it away – Sansa cried out in surprise – and dropping to his knees.

“Oberyn !” she protested.

“Yes ?” he smiled. “Don't worry, it's just us.”

“So ? I'm boobs out, here !”

“I don't mind.”

Sansa shook her head softly, smiling as she did so, as Oberyn kissed her stomach.

“And I've missed you,” he whispered to her belly, “little child. Have you been good ?”

She stroke her husband's hair while he talked to their child, letting her hands slide across his face and neck when he moved back up to kiss her again. They held each other for a while, and Sansa closed her eyes, taking in the way Oberyn smelled, the way he felt. She noticed, quickly, the tension in his shoulders, tension that dissipated some when she hugged him, but that didn't totally disappear.

“Are you all right, husband ?”

He sighed against her skin.

“Give me a minute, and I will be.”

She smiled softly, moving away from his arms to look at him. She held his face between her palms as she spoke.

“Tell me.”

He shook his head, sighing.

“The Lannisters are taking over the company.”

“What ?” she exclaimed, completely taken by surprise.

“They took advantage of the fact that I was distracted. Took everything, bit by bit, and now Martell Enterprises will disappear.”

“Gods. What do we do ?”

Oberyn half smiled.

“Nothing.”

 _Nothing ?_ Sansa wasn't sure how to interpret that. She lifted her eyebrows. She was completely taken aback, but refused to let it go.

“What do you mean ?”

“I mean I'm done.”

To punctuate his words, spoken calmly, too calmly for Sansa, Oberyn moved away from the hall, from her, and took the stairs up to the first floor. She watched him walk away, stunned, repeated those last words to herself. As quickly as she could, she waddled after him.

“You're done ?” she asked as she walked into their bedroom, where her husband was putting his things away.

“Sansa -”

He barely turned to her, and paused before he looked at her. She looked back, still surprised.

“- I don't want to talk about this right now. Okay ? I just want to be home, hold my wife, feel my child move,” he came closer to her, and Sansa saw sadness displayed all over his features, and in his eyes, “maybe get some food in bed as you and I lay there, naked as the day we were born, talking about the things that you did during the last two weeks.”

There was something so desperate in the way he talked, so open, that Sansa couldn't refuse him.

“I won't bring it up. For now.” she conceded.

“Thank you.”

He kissed her forehead and went back to emptying his suitcase. Taking a moment, Sansa sat on the bed, still half naked, looking at Oberyn.

“Full disclosure,” she stated, “my legs are hairy.”

She could tell it took him completely by surprise, and he stopped for a few seconds before he started to laugh. It was wild, untamed, coming from his belly and his throat, and Sansa never wanted it to end.

“I wanted to wax, but it turns out that a pregnant belly is not the easiest thing to contort around. I went full on turtle.”

Oberyn laughed and laughed, now sitting on the floor, and Sansa was making moves to illustrate her words. The laughter got to her too, and soon it was the two of them laughing.

“Thank you,” Oberyn ended up saying when he finally calmed down, kissing her nose.

“Shut up and take my underwear off.”

He chuckled. “Yes, ma'am.”

 

Dusk was gaining on them rapidly, and Sansa and Oberyn were still in bed, sheets dangling off, sweat shining on their still naked bodies, having found a balance between cuddling and the heat that stuck their skin together.

They had been silent for a few minutes, Sansa stroking her husband's hair, he stroking her swollen belly softly. It was peaceful.

But peaceful wasn't what they needed.

“You have to fight.” Sansa finally said.

“Baby -” Oberyn started, but she cut him off.

“You have to.”

She moved in bed in order to be looking directly at him, keeping his hand firmly on her stomach with one of hers, the other forcing Oberyn to face her.

“Not for me, not for you. For your brother, your family. Your son.”

Oberyn wanted to protest, until that last piece of information clicked in his mind, and he opened his eyes wide.

“My son ?”

Sansa nodded, smiling softly.

“We're having a boy.”

He looked back at her belly, as though it would have magically changed in the last seconds. Hope and joy were written across his features.

“Gods. A boy.”

Smiling, Sansa delivered the fatal blow.

“And a girl.”

Oberyn looked back up, frowning. With a chuckle, she moved his hand to another part of her belly, off to the side.

“Right here,” she told him. “Quieter, but definetly there.”

“Are you certain ?”

“Well, they're still quite shy when it comes to moving, but yes. I'm sure.”

“Twins.”

A smile, earnest, joyful, grinning from ear to ear smile was appearing slowly on her husband's lips. She watched it grow as her heart melted, basking in his happiness, proud to have brought it on; watched as he kissed her stomach, chuckled, and moved upward to come and kiss her on the lips, lightly at first, then more pressing.

She gently grabbed his head with both her hands, and made him look at her.

“This week-end, there will be no talk of work. Just us, and our children, and building another bassinet. And on monday, you will fly back to Sunspear, and get our company back. Understood ?”

He sighed, nodding.

“Yes ma'am.” he teased, now just a hint of a smile on his lips.

“And I will go back to King's Landing. Take the fight back to them.”

He frowned. “No.”

Ignoring him, Sansa continued.

“If you and them, you think these babies are going to mellow me down, you have another thing coming.”

“Sansa, they're dangerous.”

“So am I.”

They stared at each other for a while, Sansa determined, Oberyn worried, until she kissed him again and felt him yield a little. 

“I'll take all the guards you want with me. I promise.”

“What are you going to do ?”

She thought about it for a second before a solution presented itself. 

“Tyrion Lannister. I'll meet Tyrion Lannister.”

“The dwarf ?”

“The outcast. He was kind to me.”

Oberyn stared at her for a few moments more, and he must have seen the determination in her gaze, since he did not protest. 

“Take Doran with you.” 

“Of course. The cripple, the dwarf and the broken doll. I'm sure we'll get along famously.”

 


	19. Chapter 19

Doran had flown in from Sunspear the day before they were set to meet with Tyrion Lannister. They were preoccupied, the two of them, not distant, but not warm with each other either. It seemed to Sansa that Doran didn't like what she was doing, what she had undertook with this meeting. And yet it wouldn't stop her.

They were at dinner, just the two of them around a barely touched platter of vegetables, sitting in somewhat comfortable silence.

From what she had gathered, it looked like it would not be easy to get Martell Enterprises back from under the Lannisters, Tywin had seen to that. But it was doable, if the three of them worked as a team. Well, two, since Sansa would soon be unable to help – which, she hoped, was where Tyrion Lannister would come in.

“For the record, I'm not sure I agree with this.”

Sansa smiled at nothing.

“So I summised.”

“Oberyn is worried sick,” his brother pushed.

Turning to her brother-in-law, Sansa sighed. She didn't like that Oberyn felt that way, but she couldn't do much about it.

“Doran, Oberyn would be worried sick even if I was sitting at home with a doctor next to me and surrounded by bodyguards.”

Doran nodding, chuckling.

“Very true.”

“I have to do something to help. And what I can do is talk with the only Lannister I know that isn't trying to sabotage our family.”

“Just because he doesn't do it publicly doesn't mean he isn't doing it. Doesn't mean he's on our side.”

“Yet.”

She wasn't that confident, to be honest, but she needed to meet with him, if only to gauge where he was at. Tyrion was like a swing : he could go either way quickly. And yet, she was certain he couldn't be swayed easily.

“He's dangerous.”

“So are we.”

Doran laughed. “I appreciate you saying that, sister, but you and I would not be very effective in a brawl.”

“Why would there be a brawl ?”

They stared at each other, Sansa smiling, teasing, Doran frowning, shaking his head. Another silence passed between them before Doran backed away from the table and wheeled next to her.

“I admire your courage.”

“We are a team too small to take on the Lannisters by ourselves. We are weakened. Oberyn is never going to ask for help.”

“Is that what you're going to do ? Ask for the Imp's help ?”

“Tyrion Lannister is an amazing lawyer. He knows how his father's mind works. We need him on our side.”

Doran sighed. “I'm still not on board.”

“That's okay, I'm still going through with it.”

 

 

Sansa was much less confident on the afternoon of – although she kept her cool outwardly, refusing to tip off Doran or give him an ounce of satisfaction. She had spent her night tossing and turning, and her morning making cakes and pies with Arielle, not as much for Tyrion as it was to give herself something to do, something to occupy both her hands and her brain. There were too many cakes, to many pies, and even some apple compote leftover; tonight, Sansa, Arielle and a bodyguard would probably distribute them in the poorer area.

For now, all that was left to do was wait.

Doran was next to her, sighing every so often to show his displeasure, and her two babies were taking turns in kicking her, pushing down on her bladder. Things were not going great.

“Tell me you're not going to behave like a petulant child.”

At first, she had been talking to one of her babies, the one purposefully pushing down on her organs, but Doran answered, and she realized the statement applied to him, too.

“Stop this and I won't.”

“So you are going to behave like a child. Good to know.”

She stood up and paced slowly near the windows, reminding herself of what she was offering, of what she needed. With or without Doran's approval or help, she needed to get Tyrion Lannister on their side.

A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. She walked back to the center of the room, flattening the creases in her dress, clearing her throat.

“Don't be an ass.” she reminded her brother-in-law, who was stopped from responding by Arielle's soft introduction and Tyrion's entrance.

She hadn't seen him in years; the last time they had spoken had been before he had left for Casterly Rock and offered that she come with him, barely a year into her relationship with Joffrey. He had been kind to her everytime they met, always made sure to exchange a few words with her, a smile, to look her in the eyes (which she had increasingly run away from over time). He had helped, or at least he thought he had helped.

The man that stood before her awkwardly looked nothing from the man she remembered, and her eyes went wide. Behind her, Doran let out a small gasp.

“Not exactly appetizing, I know.”

The bitterness in his voice was definetively new, too.

There was a gash separating his face in two, running from his forehead to his jaw, a gash that had taken with it the tip of his nose. The difference between his eyes was now striking.

 _A good and an evil side_.

Sansa crossed the living-room to walk up to him.

“Lord Tyrion, what happened to you ?”

“A long story, a story I do not wish to get into at the moment. Let's just say I fell in the stairs.”

With a snide smirk, he reminded her of the lie she had told him once, when he had seen one of the bruises on her stomach.

“Of course.”

Her hand was already making her way to his cheek when she reminded herself that it was not a good idea – Tyrion was a proud man, and she didn't want to upset him. Instead, she touched his shoulder.

“You should change stairs,” she smiled, offering a seat with a gesture of her arm, “Gods know it worked for me. Somewhat.”

They shared a quick laugh, but their connection ended when Doran cleared his throat behind them.

“Of course, where are my manners.”

Sansa moved aside, so that the two men could see each other.

“Lord Tyrion, this is Doran Martell, brother to Oberyn, my husband. Doran, this is Tyrion Lannister.”

“Your reputation precedes you, sir,” Doran quipped.

“Just as yours does, Mr. Martell,” answered Tyrion.

Between them, Sansa stopped herself from rolling her eyes.

“Please, have a seat.”

She gestured toward the second chair, opposite hers, before she sat back down herself. As soon as Tyrion was seated, Arielle came out of the kitchen with coffee and cakes. Before Sansa, she put down a tall glass of orange and mango juice.

“Thank you, Arielle.”

The atmosphere was awkward, as she had expected; Tyrion was looking at his cup of coffee funny, Doran was looking at Tyrion, and Sansa didn't know where to look.

“So why am I here, Lady Sansa ?” Tyrion asked after they had all drunk from their cup.

She put down her glass and sat straighter, pushing her hair back behind her shoulders.

“Your family recently launched an attack that lost us our company.”

Tyrion nodded absently.

“So I've heard. But I'm afraid I can't do much; they're keeping me quite in the dark about family matters.”

“Maybe it's time to get out of the shadows, then.”

Putting down his cup, Tyrion leaned forward towards Sansa.

“What do you propose ?”

She gestured towards his nose.

“Which one of them did this to you ?”

A shadow passed on the man's face, and Sansa knew at once that she was right. _Bastards._

“I'm guessing your sister commissioned it, the man botched it, and your father put a stop to it once he knew. Otherwise, why would still be here ?”

Tyrion stayed silent for a long while, unmoving, staring at the floor. Sansa and Doran waited, Sansa maybe a little more uneasy, wondering if she should have said it like that. But it needed to be said. It needed to be asked.

“I have no proof.” Tyrion ended up stating, looking back at the young woman.

“But you think them involved.” Doran pushed, some incredulity in his voice.

“Of course. After all, my sister has been trying to get rid of me since infancy.”

Sansa shook her head.

“But again,” Tyrion continued, “I have no proof.”

“Proof is easy to find, if you know what you're looking for.” Doran mused, stroking his chin. “We could find it for you.”

“And why, Mr. Martell, would you do that ?” Tyrion squinted his eyes.

“Once you have proof,” Sansa interjected, “if you ever find it, what will you do ?”

The man looked back at her, silent for a second, before he quielt told her :

“There is a reason, lady Sansa, why I haven't really been searching.”

Another pause settled between them, before Sansa turned to Doran, and gazed at him. Silently, their looks exchanged words, and Doran nodded, whipping out his phone and leaving the room. She looked back at her guest.

“ _I_ have proof.”

She cleared her throat, hid behind her juice glass.

“Not of the horrific crime committed against you, unfortunately, but of the crimes committed against me.” Finding his mismatched eyes, she added : “By your family.”

“I see.” Tyrion sighed. “Well, it was only a matter of time; it's not like Joffrey was quite … discreet.”

She let out a soft snort. “And yet everyone chose to be blind.”

Tyrion chuckled darkly, and Sansa shook her shoulders. _Now was not the time to reminisce_.

“Unfortunately, it does not incriminate your father; but it does your sister, and your King.”

“Why are you telling me this, Sansa ?”

His voice was soft, and he had dropped the honorific. He was worried. He was always worried. Turning to the table next to her, Sansa grabbed a folder and handed it, closed, to the man opposite her.

“Your family has done horrible things to me,” she started, quietly, trying to contain the sadness hinted in her voice, “and to my family, both past and present. I will go after them. Now it's up to you to decide which side you want to be on.”

“You either have the biggest balls out of everyone I met, or you're incredibly naïve.”

“I'm not going to try to persuade you, lord Tyrion. Present this to your father, and either tell him you will fight this with him, or tell him you will fight for us. The choice is yours.”

Tyrion stared at the manila folder for a few seconds before he turned to her.

“Or I can do nothing.”

She sighed softly, getting up, signaling that the conversation was over, for now. Well, actually she needed to pee real bad, but she wasn't about to advertise that.

“Is that the sort of man you are, Tyrion ?”

 

She had only planned to go to the bathroom, but when she had come back, Tyrion Lannister was gone, and so was the hard copy of part of the evidence against his family, a folder she had placed on the table as she had left the room. She had sat back down, finishing her glass of juice.

“We're on it.” Doran announced as he wheeled back over to her.

She nodded, but kept quiet. She was thinking about what had taken place this afternoon, how it had gone, if she could guess what Tyrion would do.

“How long ago did he leave ?”

“I don't know, about maybe ten minutes.”

“Do you think he'll help us ?”

“I think so. I hope so.”

“He better. For our sakes.”

She heard him leave the room too, and she sighed. Had she just handled part of her case off to the Lannisters ? Gods, she hoped she hadn't.

 

Doran left King's Landing two days after they had met with Tyrion, and the last thing he said to Sansa had been to be careful, and to not leave the house without a whole protection detail.

Things were easily becoming suffocating, with always someone next to her, even in her own home. She understood why, and she understood she might need them, but it was exhausting. She couldn't wait for all of it to blow over. She could have gone back to Dorne, of course, but she wanted to wait some time, first, as she hoped she would hear back from Tyrion.

Which she did, one Tuesday morning, as she was having breakfast and he showed up at her door.

“Lord Tyrion !” she exclaimed, surprised.

Behind her, her shadow flexed his muscles.

“The files you gave me. I read them, saw them, all.”

“Oh.”

Nervously, she put down her tea cup, and swallowed. She gestured toward a seat.

“Would you like some coffee ?”

“No, thank you. I don't think I can drink anything.”

He looked visibly upset, and Sansa felt bad for showing him those things.

“I'm sorry you had to see those things.” she told him, hoping he would hear the sincerity in her voice.

“I'm sorry you had to live through them.”

“Heh. I survived.”she joked, trying to lighten the atmosphere.

“Yes, you did.”

He, however, did not seem to want to joke. He stared at her as though he had never seen her before, and it made her somewhat uncomfortable.

“I'll help you get Martell Enterprises back,” he finally stated, after a long minute of silence, and Sansa looking back at him, though not always in the eyes.

She sighed in relief.

“Thank you.”

“You could sue my family for all we're worth with the evidence you have, you know.”

“Would you like me to ?” she asked, turning to him.

Tyrion did not respond.

“Don't worry. I'm not going to.”

“Why not ?”

Sighing again, Sansa passed a palm over her midsection, attracting Tyrion's gaze.

“I don't want my children to be born in battle. I want them to be safe.”

“Children ?” Both of his eyebrows went up.

Sansa smiled, realizing what she'd said.

“Twins,” she admitted for the first time to someone other than her husband.

“Please tell me you're not going to name them Cersei and Jaime.”

Sansa laughed, and he joined her for a chuckle.

“I can safely say that it won't happen in a million years.”

A shiver went down her spine and she groaned in disgust.

They fell silent for another moment, before Sansa gestured to her table.

“Would you like some breakfast, lord Tyrion ?”

“I would, if only you start calling me Tyrion.”

“Sansa.”

She extended her hand, and they shook on it, smiling softly on her side, tension slowly lifting on his side. He sat down next to her, and Sansa got him a cup, filled it with tea. They didn't talk about their upcoming fight one iota – there would be time for that later – but they did talk of Casterly Rock, of Winterfell, of weddings and marriages, and of anything they thought about during their breakfast.

“Are you working at the moment, Tryion ?” she ended up asking as they finished eating, about a hour or so later.

“I don't have any other cases, if that's what you mean.”

“Good. Would you like to come back to Dorne with me ?”

Tyrion chuckled darkly.

“Are you certain your husband would like that ?”

“He would be. You would have come to help, after all.”

A sigh escaped his lips.

“If I go with you, my father and my sister will know for sure that we are involved in something. They must suspect already, as I'm sure they have me followed, but if I go, they'll _know_.”

“They will know sooner or later, Tyrion.”

“Let me talk to my father, first.”

“Of course. I'll wait.”

 

She hadn't had to wait long – only a couple of days.

Her fifth month of pregnancy was coming to a close, and Clarissa had come and gone that afternoon to check on the three of them, and Sansa had phoned Oberyn to have him listen to the heartbeat with her. She was crying, Oberyn almost, and Clarissa was smiling from ear to ear; everything was good.

And yet that night, everything changed.

She was awakened by a panicked knock on the front door, and instinctively covered her stomach. There was no shouting, no clear sign of a brawl, only voices, one rough and the other panicked. One of her guards, Gerold, came to find her.

“Tyrion Lannister is downstairs. Asking for you.”

She got up as quickly as she could, knotted the robe that the man was offering her around her waist, and came down the stairs. Tyrion was surrounded by her guards, the last one of them a little behind, already on the phone with, she suspected, either Doran or Oberyn.

Tyrion was visibly upset, almost shaking, and he found her gaze as soon as she entered the room, revealing a deep sadness. Sansa looked at Arielle, also awake and hiding in a corner.

“Get the man something to drink. Something hard, please, Arielle.”

The older woman nodded and disappeared.

“Tyrion, what happened ?”

At first, one of the guard, she didn't look who, wanted to stop her from getting closer to Tyrion, but she swatted him away.

Tyrion said nothing, just looked at her pleadingly. He was visibly shaken, and she paled as she saw the blood on his right hand.

“Tyrion, whose blood is that ?”

Arielle came back with a drink, presented it to him, and he gulped it down before he could answer. Arielle immediately filled the glass back up.

“My father's.”

Everyone jumped to attention, the tension palpable in the room.

“Why do you have your father's blood on you, Tyrion ?” Sansa asked, afraid to know the answer.

“Because I killed him.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoy this story, please consider visiting my ko-fi page (https://ko-fi.com/N4N25J6J) and maybe buy me a coffee so that I can continue writing it ! Thanks !


	20. Chapter 20

The words were still ringing in the room, and everyone was reeling from the confession.

Tyrion Lannister had just shot his father.

Sansa's mind drifted for a few second, before she could snap back to attention.

“Gerold,” she started, and immediately the man was beside her, “get the car ready. We leave in five minutes.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

She had already turned to Arielle when the man ran out.

“Arielle, could you please pack me a bag ?”

The woman was already on the stairs. Sansa turned to another one of her guards.

“Make sure the food in the fridge benefits somebody. Go. You,” she gestured towards the man on the phone, “is that my husband ?”

The man shook his head. “Daemon Sand.”

“Tell him to tell Oberyn that I'm okay. And that we're headed to Winterfell.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“And somebody get on the phone with the caretaker at Winterfell, please !”

Finally, once everyone had something to do, and the whole house was frenzied – Snasa turned to Tyrion, still nursing his empty glass, eyes opened but unfocused.

“Tyrion,” she started softly, touching his shoulder, and he looked at her as though he had just emerged from a deep sleep. “We can't go South, they'll be expecting us. We need to go North. You will be safe in Winterfell.”

He nodded, absently.

Five minutes later, Gerold, Arielle, Tyrion and her were crammed in a car, driving as fast as they could without attracting attention, and left the city mere minutes before the city guards closed the gates. She could only hope that the rest of her team had made it out safely.

 

The drive to the North had taken them a long time – due to anxiety and to her babies pressing down on her, Sansa had needed to go pee extremely often. Of course, it provided breaks for everyone, but it also meant that their arrival would be delayed. After almost two days in the car, they finally arrived back home.

Sansa hadn't seen Winterfell since she had left it at 14 years old, ten years ago. Despite everything, fatigue, soreness, desperate need of a shower and a toilet, she stopped as she exited the car to look around her, eyes watery, hands on her belly.

She couldn't believe she was here.

 _Home_.

If she closed her eyes, she was certain she could hear the springs hidden around the house that gave it its warm walls, the sheep in the barns, the horses in the stables, and the pigs and the chickens and the cats. She remembered the smell, of animals and sweat and hay, that she used to hate so much; she remembered Arya and Bran and Rickon running around and either Poole or her dad would reprimand them; she remembered Robb and Jon in their winter coats sneaking cigarettes and beer to a party in the next town over, she remembered everything that happened here without any significance, but for the life of her, she couldn't remember how Winterfell had looked like as they got in the car to leave for King's Landing.

Now it only looked dead.

Oberyn had had a caretaker appointed, a man he knew and trusted, and that man had started reconstruction of the house some months back. Sansa hadn't expected to see it until after her children would be born. And so, judging by the look of the guy's face, did he.

“Mrs Martell, I'm sorry to receive you in such conditions.”

“No, I'm sorry to impose our presence on you before the house is ready.” she smiled, hoping that the stink of a two day car ride wouldn't reach him. “What's your name ?”

“Manfrey. Manfrey Martell.”

“A cousin ?”

He smiled in response. “Yes.”

“Ouch,” Sansa joked. “what horrible thing did you do to deserve a relocation to the big white North ?”

Manfrey laughed, shaking his head.

“I asked to be sent here, ma'am.”

“Sansa.”

He nodded once. “Sansa.”

“So you asked ?”

“How about we talk about it once you've had some sleep ?”

“Oh, Gods, yes.”

Manfrey laughed again in good-humour, and invited her to follow him. Sansa looked around her to discover that she was the only one of her companions to still be outside.

 

Being inside Winterfell was even stranger for her : in many ways, it was the house she remembered, but in many other ways, it was nothing like her childhood home. The walls were there, the outer walls that were made of stone and that hadn't burned, but the rest was a canvas, blank and waiting to be filled. Her heart felt like it was squeezed softly, but continually.

“I'm actually glad you're here, Sansa,” Manfrey told her as they walked to the first floor – her parents' domain.

“You are ?”

She fowned.

“Of course ! It will be much easier to know what you want your house to look like if you're here and I can talk it through with you.”

They shared a chuckle. She felt at ease next to him, and he was emanating an aura of profiency and competence. She liked it, and the thought crossed her mind that her house was in good hands.

He showed her into what she believed would be the only finished suite in the whole house, as the walls were all made of the same stone : the room that used to be her parents' room.

“The furniture is all new,” Manfrey precised, “as the old one disappeared, but I hope you'll find it to your liking.”

“It's perfect, Manfrey.” Sansa forced a smile, trying not to think of Eddard and Catelyn Stark. “Thank you.”

Surprising her, Arielle came out of the bathroom.

“I drew you a bath, ma'am.” she announced.

Sansa was flabbergasted.

“Arielle, that wasn't necessary. Why aren't you in your own room ?”

Arielle shrugged, smiling at Sansa.

“I'll go get you some food before I go to sleep.”

“Arielle-” Sansa protested.

Next to them, Manfrey was following the conversation intently, smiling.

“Don't you start,” the older woman cut her off with a flick of her wrist, “I'm doing it. Now get in your bath before it gets cold.”

She turned to Manfrey. “Could you show me to the kitchen, please ?”

“That would be my pleasure.”

Manfrey turned back to Sansa with a smile.

“Good night, Sansa.”

“Good night. Thank you.”

The door closed softly behind them before Sansa allowed herself to sigh. Everything here felt so different than what she was used to. Of course, it wasn't rational of her to think she could come back here and find the same old house that she had known, but it still pained her to know, to be reminded that, of their parents' legacy, only the walls remained. No furniture, no memento, nothing but stone and a property document.

Slowly, Sansa undressed out of the dress that she had been wearing for the past forty-three hours, grabbed her phone and made a beeline for the bathroom.

 

As soon as she had sunk into the bathtub – a beautiful cast-iron claw-footed tub made of the stuff of Sansa's dreams -, she closed her eyes and let herself be coddled by the water. She fought against the fatigue, though as she wanted to call Oberyn before she fell asleep.

He answered on the fourth ring, and his voice was thick with sleep.

“Baby ?”

“Hi,” she answered.

“Are you all right ?”

“Yeah, we arrived in Winterfell about an hour or so ago.”

She heard his sigh of relief.

“I'll be there as soon as I can.”

“Don't.”

There was a silence on the other end of the phone.

“It's bad enough,” she continued, “that I left for Winterfell in the middle of the night on the night of Tywin Lannister's murder – you _have_ to stay put.”

“I can't protect you from where I am, Sansa.”

She could hear in his voice that he was worried.

“We'll be okay. We've got Gerold, and I'm sure another car will be here in the morning, filled with more bodyguards.”

Another silence followed before he spoke again.

“I can't believe that I used to think being married to you would be easy.”

He meant it as a joke, and she chuckled.

“And instead, I just keep giving you lemons.”

He ascented. “You _are_ the worst.”

“Why did you marry me, anyway ?”

“For the oven, obviously.”

Hearing Oberyn joke with her, even at a time when the two of them were tired, sleepy, anxious, made the whole day for Sansa; at that moment, she felt so much love for her husband, for his trust and faith in her, for his patience in all the crazy situations she was putting them through, for all of it and more.

“I love you.”

She almost heard the smile in his response.

“I love you, too.”

“I have something for you to think about until we see each other again, though.”

“What is that ?”

“Baby names.”

 

 

The next morning, Sansa woke up late. Her brain felt groggy, and she had to blink many times before her vision settled into something that she could start to comprehend. After that, it took her a minute to remember why she was surrounded by stone, and not in her usual white and peach bedroom.

Winterfell. She was in Winterfell.

The thought of it brought a smile to her lips – she was home.

As soon as she got out of the bed and out of under the covers, it hit her for real. A shiver ran through her, the temperature definetely cooler than she had grown used to in King's Landing. Weirdly, that, too, made her smile.

Arielle, bless her, had tried to pack her warmer maternity clothes; but, having not anticipated coming back to the North, her warmer clothes were still pretty light – Sansa would then wear leggings, a long-sleeved blouse, a dress over them and a jacket on top before she felt comfortable enough to leave the room.

She laughed when she realized Oberyn would probably freeze to death here, cursing for Dorne all the way.

Winterfell had never needed many radiators – the house was heated quite ingeniously by the hot springs located all around the estate. The hot water ran through the walls in many small pipes, warming the stones. The other heat distribution system had come through the kitchen downstairs. At the height of its use, this kitchen was almost always used – something on the stove, something in the oven, something cooking, something baking, something rising. Winterfell used to have three cooks, one of them being Catelyn Stark, and in her childhood, Sansa had spent many an evening in those kitchens. Everything had changed, of course, when they moved.

She knew the path to it by heart.

Sansa came into the room to find Arielle hudled by the fireplace, nursing a steaming cup of coffee, and Manfrey next to her.

“Good morning.”

Arielle looked up immediately and started to leave the fireplace, but Sansa stopped her.

“Don't move. Stay warm.”

“I'm sorry, miss Sansa, I'm just not used to this cold.”

“It's all right.” she smiled at the both of them. “Have you seen lord Tyrion ?”

The two of them shook their head no.

“What room is he in ?”

 

 

The door to the 'Gray Room' was closed, but when Sansa knocked, she heard a soft response coming from inside. At least he was still here.

“Good morning, Tyrion.” she said as she came in.

He was sitting on a chair by the window as she walked in, and on the table next to him sat an almost empty bottle of whisky.

“I'm afraid I raided your pantry last night,” he said, as a matter of greeting.

She smiled, changed the glass for the steaming mug of coffee she'd brought.

“It's not like _I_ can drink it,” she joked.

The bed looked like it hadn't been slept in as she sat on its edge, facing the man who was probably already drunk, or on his way to, at eleven a.m. She stayed silent for a minute, looking at him – meanwhile, she had the feeling that he was doing his best to avoid her gaze, instead staring at the coffee mug.

“Okay !” she exclaimed, making him jump then wince, slapping her palm into the mattress. “Drink your coffee, take a shower.”

She stood up.

“Breakfast, or rather, lunch will be served in a hour. We'll talk then.”

She waited for him to get up as she grabbed the bottle, and when he didn't, she nudged him gently.

“I don't think-” he started, but she cut him off.

“Good. Coffee's so hot, you'll have time to shower first. You smell, Tyrion. Let's go.”

She pestered him until he got up, watched as he made his way to the bathroom.

“Has anyone ever told you that you're a bit bossy ?”

She noticed, very clearly, the smile that had crept on his face and that he was trying to hide from her (and failing).

“You're not the first person to tell me so, no.”

She walked out the door, but before she closed it behind her, she reminded him.

“One hour. After that, I'm sending Gerold to fetch you, naked if he must.”

 

 

To insure that she and Tyrion could talk privately, Sansa had sent Manfred and Arielle to buy groceries and winter clothes – Arielle, she could tell, had been grateful to start moving, and Manfred would be able to give her tips on how to survive in the North, being a Dornishmen himself.

It had been weird to find herself alone in the kitchen. Since the burning, everything had changed : cupboards, pantries, cooking ustensils, the layout, the machines. The only thing that had stayed was the fireplace, but she doubted any cooking was being done in it.

She struggled to find the pans and the pots, but the rest was smooth sailing from there : she remembered exactly the dishes that Catelyn Stark used to make when on of her children got sick, or was sad.

Fried spicy sausage rice.

Tyrion came in, his shadow following him to the doorway, as she was putting the finishing touches to her dish.

“Hi,” she called, smiling, “do you mind setting the table ?”

“I- I don't know where anything is.”

“Don't worry, me neither.”

They looked for plates and cutlery while Sansa's rice was cooking, turning around and opening cupboards and drawers, the silence not quite comfortable, but not awkward either.

“How do you feel, Tyrion ?” Sansa asked as she filled his plate.

“Like someone who just murdered his father.”

Finally, Sansa could ask the question she'd been meaning to ask since Tyrion had come in her house, two days ago.

“What happened ?”

He sighed, putting down his fork.

“I was in his office, I had just given him the folder that you had given me.”

 

 

_“What is this ?”_

_His father's gaze was cold, as it always was when Tyrion spoke to him, but he couldn't have spit his words out more._

“ _What it says on the tin, father. Evidence of our family's wrongdoing.”_

_Tywin Lannister almost threw the folder off of his desk when he went to put it down._

“ _And what are_ you _doing with it ?”_

“ _Sansa Martell gave it to me.”_

“ _Ah, yes. When you went to meet with her.”_

_His eyes bore into Tyrion's skull, and Tyrion almost smiled. Of course his father knew. He had long suspected he was being followed – now, it was out in the open._

“ _How is the pregnant whore ?”_

_Tyrion swallowed. Hard._

“ _She is not a whore, father.”_

“ _Have you not looked at her so-called evidence ?” Tywin spat. “Have you not seen the pictures of her sex tape ?”_

“ _Sex tape ?”_

_Tyrion was incredulous – he had never thought his father capable of so much hatred and venom. Despite everything he had known, despite everything he had lived through, he had at least thought his father capable of telling the truth._

“ _This is no sex tape. Joffrey is raping her.”_

_He couldn't believe he had to say it out loud._

“ _Don't be so unbearably naïve, Tyrion.” Tywin sighed, his eyes almost rolling out of their socket. “But then again, whore were always your weakness.”_

“ _Don't you dare.”_

_Anger was starting to shake Tyrion, and he was doing his best to control himself._

“ _Why have you come here, Tyrion ? What were you hoping to accomplish ?”_

“ _I wanted the truth. I wanted this family to take responsibility.”_

“ _Have you even had someone certify this ? Make sure_ she _was not playing you like she clearly is ?”_

“ _So that a no on the truth, then.”_

_Tyrion started to pace around the room, trying to breathe, trying to figure out a way to get his father to be honest._

_In court, he was unstoppable. He could get anyone to say anything, he could twist statements to fit his needs, he could convince a jury to eat on the palm of his hand._

_With his family, he was always at his wits' end._

“ _Have you slept with her ? Is it wwhat's happening here ?”_

“ _She's married, father !”_

“ _Are you in love with her ?”_

“ _I hadn't seen her in years !” Tyrion almost roared, outraged._

“ _Because those are the only reasons I can see for you to betray your family, your flesh and blood. She got into your head through your cock.”_

_Tyrion's hand balled into a fist. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. His flesh and blood ? They had stopped being his flesh and blood the moment they had spilled his._

“ _Tell me the truth !” Tyrion exclaimed, loudly._

_Tywin didn't move, didn't bat an eyelid, kept looking at him as though he was no more than a pest that he needed to swat._

“ _Remember your first wife, Tyrion.”_

_His anger had turned to cold fury, seeping into his veins drop by drop, beat by beat._

“ _She, too, played you like a fiddle. She, too, was nothing but a whore trying to manipulate you.”_

“ _You need to stop saying that word.”_

 _Tyrion's voice was calm, collected. Two things he did_ not _feel inside._

“ _I bailed you out then, Tyrion. I won't bail you out now.”_

“ _Just tell me the truth.”_

_He was almost begging for honesty. Almost crying with desesperation._

_In his right pocket, his hand slowly closing around the gun._

“ _The truth is, you absolute imbecile, that Sansa Stark is an enemy of the state who is playing you by making you believe she likes you. Look at yourself, Tyrion,” Tywin spat, his eyes finally warm, warm with disdain. “who could ever love you without wanting something in return ?”_

_He was approaching his breaking point. Rapidly. He took the gun out of his pocket._

_He heard his father snicker._

“ _What are you going to do, shoot me ?”_

_His knuckles were white from gripping the handle too tight._

“ _You don't have the guts. You're not even a man.”_

_Tywin stood up._

_He wasn't trembling any more._

“ _And over a_ whore _.”_

_The shot rang in the room loudly, and Tyrion was pushed backwards. He took a step, two._

_On the other side of the room, Tywin stumbled back into his chair, clutching his abdomen._

_There was shock on both their faces._

“ _You,” Tywin whispered and moaned, “are no son of mine.”_

“ _Finally.” Tyrion said, his voice once again calm. “Truth.”_

_He heard his father's last breath being drawn as he exited the room._

 

 

Sansa's fork hovered her plate, which lay, as did Tyrion's, untouched. She was reeling from the story, shaking imperceptibly.

“Why did you have a gun in your pocket ?”

“The funny thing about that is, when you almost get killed by your own family, you tend to get a little paranoiac.”

That was understandable. Easily so.

“I need a drink.” she sighed, rubbing her nose.

Tyrion chuckled lightly, but didn't answer.

“Where is the gun now ?”

Tyrion sighed. “I left it there.”

“Tyrion !”

“Would you have preferred I bring it with me ?”

“So they know it's you.”

She pushed her plate away, the smell of food making her nauseous. She was trying to think.

“Okay. So we have two options.”

She could feel his gaze, but she couldn't tell what he was thinking.

“Either you go North, and you cross the Wall – or you go South, by boat. Try to reach any other kingdom than ours without them finding you.”

Tyrion said nothing in response, so Sansa continued.

“Going North could be easier, the roads are not being monitered, not with all the snow and the wind. The road west, to the sea, could be trickier. The boat ride, too, but you will be much more comfortable on an island in the South. Both could work, though, since they are not our proud nation's greatest friends.”

Sansa smiled sarcastically, and Tyrion finally spoke.

“Sansa Stark, finding a way to get a fugitive out of the country. Now that's something I never thought would happen in a million years.”

She nodded along, chuckling.

“Trust me. I've done plenty things that I don't think anyone would have seen me do.”

This time, she did recognize the look in his eyes. Admiration.

“Your parents would be proud of the woman you've become.”

“It's kind of you to say so.”

She didn't believe a word of it though.

Her parents would be horrified at her.

But she couldn't think about them – she had to think of her own children. Of her own moral compass.

“Well, isn't this cozy.”

Both Sansa and Tyrion turned to the voice in the doorway.

The first thing she saw was Gerold, a little ways behind, on the floor, unconscious.

And then she was the gun in her hand, and Tyrion jumped up.

She, however was frozen into place.

Cersei Lannister was standing in front of her, by the door, looking like she was about to murder them both.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoy this story, please consider visiting my ko-fi page (https://ko-fi.com/N4N25J6J) and maybe buy me a coffee so that I can continue writing it ! Thanks !


	21. Chapter 21

Her first instinct, Sansa was proud to admit, had been to protect her children. Her hands had flown to her stomach, and she'd stood up, just in case she needed to move fast.

Opposite her, Tyrion had stood up as well.

“The traitor and the dwarf.”

There was, on Cersei's feature, something disturbing that Sansa couldn't exactly pinpoint. There was anger, yes, disdain maybe, too. Something between her eyes and her smile that terrified her.

“And the former queen of Westeros.” Tyrion added.

To his credit, he didn't seem to be trembling as much as Sansa did – it occurred to her that he didn't have as much to lose as she did.

Cersei snickered.

“Did you really think I wouldn't find you ?”

“I admit,” Tyrion nodded, “that I didn't think you would do so this fast.”

“You should choose your guards more thoughtfully, nest time. They fold like paper.” Cersei laughed. “And under so little pressure, too.”

While the woman's attention was on Tyrion, Sansa slid, as discreetly as she could, her hands in her pockets. In the right one, she brought her phone to life, fumbled to put it on silent, and unlocked it.

“Winterfell.”

Cersei said the name with venom, spitting it out on the floor, face lit up with disgust. “Have you fallen so low, that do not have anyone to turn to but your nephew's … leftovers ?”

Sansa stilled. She did not want to attract attention, and waited until Tyrion spoke again. There would be time to respond later, after she'd warned Oberyn.

“You always were jealous of her.” Tyrion smiled, tilting his head. “How's Margaery, by the way ?”

Cersei's jaw clenched, and she suddenly started to wave around the gun in her right hand.

“Do you recognize this, Tyrion ?”

Sansa could. At least, she could extrapolate from Tyrion's silence and Cersei's brag.

“You killed my father with this.” she continued.

A frown contracted Sansa's eyebrows. _And she took it from the crime scene ?_

“Your father,” Tyrion answered with disgust, “deserved the bullet. He was a monster.”

“You're the monster here, not him !”

She was shouting, coming alive with fury, brandishing the gun. After trying to find the right button to push, Sansa pressed down on one, and her phone lit up in her pocket, calling her husband. She immediately muted the receiver, so that Oberyn could hear, but that Cersei couldn't hear him if he spoke.

The gun was now locked and directed at Tyrion, who refused to back down. He was provoking her, Sansa realized. But she couldn't put herself in the middle. She had to think of her children.

“So it was you.” Tyrion softly stated. “You were the one who botched my assassination attempt.”

“You are a disgusting creature, you deserved to die. Not my father. Not for some made-up reason.”

“Ah.”

Both Sansa and Tyrion understood at the same time. Cersei had seen the dossier on her father's desk.

Tyrion took a step forward.

“Where is our brother, Cersei ?”

“He is no brother of yours, imp.” Cersei spat.

Tyrion just pressed on, and Sansa's stomach was starting to knot.

“Does he know that you're here ? Does he approve ? Or is he on my side ?”

“There's no one on your side except this one,” Cersei gestured toward Sansa, who stilled. “And even she is only looking out for herself.”

Surprisingly, and on the contrary to everything she would have believed, Sansa, despite being scared – there was a gun, how could she not be scared ? - wasn't frozen in place. She was ready to bolt towards the back door at the slightest chance she could, ready to sprint into the forest. Every one of her muscles was on alert, heart throbbing with adrenaline, unbelievably steady, even now.

If she bolted, she could save her children.

But if she did, Tyrion would probably not make it out alive.

She prayed to the Old Gods, the ones all around her here, that Oberyn had already started to move.

 

OBERYN

 

He couldn't believe he was all the way in the South, and his wife all the way in the North. There was now an entire kingdom between them – and Oberyn couldn't handle that. Not with what he had learned.

Screw looking suspect.

Her wife might trust Tyrion Lannister, but he didn't.

He had boarded the plane in Sunspear two hour ago, and he had just been informed that, if the weather held, they would arrive in White Harbor in under two more hours. A glance at his watch informed him he would be arriving around midday. Good. That way he would only have left Sansa alone with the imp half a day. That was enough.

Doran had watched him pack and had not looked at all surprised.

Without the company, it wasn't like they had much to do, and even then, Doran handled it by himself anyway. Oberyn had been officially fired from his own father's company a few days ago, and he had been meaning to go back to King's Landing, but he had stayed with Doran and their lawyers, trying to come up with a plan while Sansa was coming up with her own, with a man he liked, but didn't trust.

According to her calculations, Sansa was now well into her sixth month of pregnancy.

According to his calculations, Oberyn had missed too much of it to not spend the last three month of it with her.

She wanted him to fight for his legacy, he would rather just tear it down and start anew. Build a new one, his, Doran's, Sansa's, to pass on to his children.

Sansa had ask him to think about baby names, and now that it was out there, he couldn't stop thinking about it.

A boy and a girl. He couldn't stop smiling.

The best of both worlds.

Naming them, however, would necessit compromise. He wanted to call the girl Elia, of course, and Sansa might be wanting to call her Arya. Or Catelyn.

Whatever.

As long as Sansa was happy, he would be happy.

Smiling, he reminded himself of a time, not so long ago, when he thought he would end up married to a woman he didn't know how to care for, a vapid, incipid King's Landing socialite who would end up just like the women Sansa felt sorry for: unloved, desperate, unhappy. Drowning in a drink.

And now he was happy, in love, about to be a father.

The woman he had chosen, he had not chosen for the right reasons – he had wanted Sansa Stark because she was beautiful, because she was resilient, because she was determined. In his heart, he hadn't believed that he would ever come to love her, but he had believed that she would never let herself become one of those women. That she would make something of herself, maybe even leave him when she was ready. He had chosen her because he thought they would have an expiration date, and that he could have said to society, see, _I was married, but she left me. She broke my heart. I can never be in a relationship again_.

And he had chosen her, out of every single woman in this kindgom, because if he couldn't get his revanche for his sister, he could damn well help her get hers. Build her up, watch her fly, smile as she took down a family so disgusting and so corrupt that no one would miss them anyway. But they would love _her_.

But she had flipped it upside down, all of his expectations thrown to the floor. She had gottzn him to fall in love, and quite easily. Now he could never let her leave him.

Not without a damn good fight.

He tried to sleep, on the plane, reclined his seat. He would be next to Sansa soon enough.

 

ARIELLE

 

 

There were many things that Arielle like about her employer's wife, Sansa : she was kind, she was thoughtful, she treated her, well, them, everyone, as she would want to be treated, she was curious, she was fiery, she was resilient. She was never afraid to learn, to try to do better.

But she absolutely hated that this was were she was from.

The snow was terrible, and wet, and cold, and it seeped into her shoes, into her socks. The wind was worse, because it pushed the snow against her, and even with her fancy new coat on, it was freezing cold.

They had just stopped the car, and were starting to walk back to the house when they heard the shot, and Manfrey immediately covered her as she let go of the grocery bags. They ran behind the car, waited a second to see if it was safe, and Manfrey peeked around the car at the door. Everything looked calm, but there was no mistaking what they had just heard.

Something was wrong, she realized as her heart beat a hundred miles per hour.

 

SANSA

 

“What are you doing here, Cersei ?”

“You killed my father !”

Sansa's heart, too, was beating faster everytime Cersei shouted, which seemed to be more and more often. She was watching her fallen idol crumble before her, and there was no telling what would arise.

“You tried to have me killed !”

The screaming match between the siblings was so intense, and yet when she looked at them, Sansa could only see the childish arguments that she used to have with Arya. The only difference was the gun inside the queen's hand.

Which she suddenly shifted to face Sansa.

“Enough !” she screamed. “Shut up, sit down, or I swear I will shoot the pregnant whore in the stomach.”

Instincively, Sansa covered her belly.

Tyrion obeyed her easily, looking between his sister and Sansa. Once he was sitted, Cersei focused her attention on her.

“Come here.”

Sansa wasn't sure if he should.

“Come here !” Cersei repeated, louder, making Sansa jump a little.

She took a few steps towards the crazy woman brandishing a gun in her face, trying to remain calm. If the Queen could try to have her brother killed, she could shoot her, there was no question about it.

“So,” she snickered, “here we are again.”

“I don't recall a time when you held me at gunpoint, your Grace.”

“That's because you're an idiot.”

Biting down on her own teeth, Sansa stopped herself from rolling her eyes.

“You're hurting my son,” the Queen stated.

“He hurt me first.” Sansa argued. “It's only fair.”

“Fair ?”

Cersei scoffed, looking incredulous.

“This is real life, you stupid girl. Fair doesn't matter.”

“Regardless, your son had it coming.”

The queen stared at her for a few seconds, and Sansa immediately knew what was coming next. She only braced herself, pushed down on her feet to stay upright. And yet, no matter how prepared she thought she was, the blow sent her to the floor.

On the barrel of the gun, where it had met her face, there was a drop of blood. There was more, though, on the floor, dripping as Sansa tasted it in her mouth.

“Sansa !” Tyrion shouted, getting up.

The gun was already pointed at him again.

“Sit down !” Cersei shouted.

To his credit, Tyrion, even though he showed no desire of obeying, sat as Sansa stood back up, slowly.

The older woman put her attention back on the redhead.

“Look at you. Years later and you still don't know how to take a beating.”

This time, Sansa didn't answer – the smell of blod was still too strong, her cheek stung, her head ached, and she felt nausea rising inside her stomach. The babies were quiet.

“So tell me, Sansa,” Cersei took a few steps towards her, “what has all the money you married for got you, in the end ?”

“I'm sorry, your Grace. Are you calling me a golddigger ?”

“If the shoe fits.” Cersei smiled.

“You should know, you've worn it for the past twenty-four years.”

“What is that supposed to mean ?”

_Why couldn't she shut up ? Shut up !_ But trying as she could, Sansa couldn't help herself from pushing forward.

“Oh, I'm sorry. Did you marry the King out of love ?”

“I didn't do it for the money, if that is what you're insinuating.”

“All that glitters isn't gold, your Grace.”

“You know, you really shouldn't talk to me like that.” Cersei warned, taking a step further, smirking as Sansa took a step back.

 

OBERYN

 

They landed in White Harbor a little after noon, and the first thing Oberyn did was turn on his phone as he walked out of the aircraft. A few seconds later, it dinged, and Oberyn smiled as he saw that Sansa had left him a voicemail.

He put his phone to his ear, hoping to hear her say his name.

What he got instead chilled him to the bone. His smiled faded, and he was only thirty seconds into the voicemail when he shouted for Daemon to get into the car and leave everything else, and everyone else, behind.

He put his phone on speaker, and no sooner had Daemon heard Cersei's voice that he pushed down the gas pedal, and they raced through the snow towards Winterfell.

 

 

ARIELLE

 

Manfrey had left her in a secluded cabin to call the police while he got closer to investigate. The call had been short, and the operator had assured her they were sending someone down immediately.

So she waited, cold and scared and in the dark, waited until she heard the car, the sirens, anything, anything that would mean that she was safe. That they were all safe.

Of course, she wondered what was going on inside the house, but she tried not to dwell on it – Sansa was inside. A very pregnant Sansa.

They should never have trusted Tyrion Lannister, that was for certain.

 

 

SANSA

 

Another blow sent her to the floor again, the other cheek this time, and Sansa heard something snap in her left arm as she fell, hand then side, to the tile floor.

Before she could move, Sansa noticed that the queen was too distracted, too focused on her to really see anything else. Thankfull, it seemed that Tyrion had noticed it as well – slowly, but surely, he was getting up from the bench where he had been sitting, and walking behind his sister.

“Get up !”

The shrill order brought Sansa back to the Queen, and she did as she was told, moaning as her wrist gave way when she used it.

Frustrated, the Queen lifted her up by her jacket.

Tyrion was halfway there, Sansa saw, keeping her eyes on Cersei.

“Do you know how this ends, Sansa ?”

Pain was pulsing through her entire left arm, but Sansa refused to back down. _Just hold on,_ she told herself _, hold on_. _Help is coming_.

“I'm going to shoot the imp,” Cersei smirked, “and I'm going to take you back to the capital, where you will stand in front of the whole nation and admit your lies.”

“I'm not going anywhere with you.” Sansa breathed, taking a step back. “And you're not going to kill anyone.”

“Oh, plea-”

A loud crash reverberated throughout the kitchen, and the gun in the queen's hand flew to the ground, firing as it hit the floor.

With a shriek, Sansa moved away from the blast as quickly as she could, her body falling again on her left side, on her arm – the pain from that injury, whatever it was, dulled everything else. She didn't know where the bullet had landed, didn't know what was going on, could only hear the shuffling of feet.

Then a shot. Then another.

Then a whole lot of shouting, from a whole lot of people.

 

OBERYN

 

It turned out that Gerold had been the only one of the guards to have made it to Winterfell – and he wasn't answering his phone, leaving Oberyn to fear the worst.

Beside him, Daemon was driving like a madman, not once letting go of the road. It was as if he didn't need to blink, to think, even : he only drove, at fast as the car and the snow would allow him.

It wasn't enough, though. Nowhere near.

Oberyn tried Gerold again, tried Sansa again.

No answer.

 

ARIELLE

 

She had heard the shouting before she had seen the feet – but the door to her cabin opened forcefully, and she yelped, jumping backwards.

“Clear !”

A single shout, and then the feet moved on, all but one pair of them.

“You're okay,” it said, leaning down to meet her.

Arielle could have cried with relief when she recognized a policeman's uniform.

“You're okay,” the voice said again, to which Arielle gladly nodded.

Sansa's children immediately came to her mind.

“Is it over ? Is everyone safe ?”

Taking off her helmet, the policewoman politely smiled at Arielle.

“We've apprehended the suspects. Now we're doing a full sweep of the grounds, just to make sure.”

The woman stood up, offered Arielle her hand to help her get to her feet.

“Let's get you inside, okay ?”

“How's mrs. Martell ?” Arielle pushed.

“I'm sorry. I don't know who that is.”

“The pregnant woman.”

“I didn't go into the house,” the policewoman responded.

 

OBERYN

 

As soon as the car stopped, leaving two very distinct traces in the snow, Oberyn threw himself out of it. He was only met with people in uniforms brandishing weapons against him, forcing him to stop.

“I only want to see my wife,” he shouted at them when they ordered him to drop to the ground. “Where is my wife ?”

“Sir,” Daemon pointed, knees in the snow, to somewhere on their right.

When he turned, Oberyn saw the ambulances, three of them. All of his blood froze inside his body.

“Please,” he turned back to the officers. “I just want to see my wife.”

One policeman was already on him, patting him down, making sure he didn't carry any weapons. As soon as he nodded to his colleagues, Oberyn broke into a sprint towards the house.

“Sansa ?” he shouted, crossing the threshold into unfamiliar territory. “Sansa !”

But she didn't answer, leaving him to turn around on himself, looking into any direction he could find.

“Sansa !”

 

SANSA

 

The oxygen mask was helping calm her down. The Vicodin helped, too.

The pain in her stomach, however, trumped everything else. She moaned in pain as two medics were pushing her into the ambulance. When the pain had dwindled, she noticed the look of concern on Arielle's face, and smiled at her to reassure her.

“I'll be fine. Go sit in the front, near the warmth.”

Arielle had been shivering since she had found her a few minutes ago, and nothing, even the blanket the medics had put on her helped.

“We need to get you to the hospital,” one of the medics told her, to which she reaily nodded.

“Yes, please.”

On the way, Sansa swayed between consciousness and sleep, lulled by the car's movement, pulled back everytime by the medic's incessant reminder to stay awake, and that sharp pain in her stomach.

 

 

OBERYN

 

Sansa was nowhere to be found – neither was anyone, actually.

He wasn't interested in knowing anything else but her whereabouts.

“Sir” Daemon interrupted his search, “we have to go, follow the ambulance. They're taking mrs. Martell to the hospital.”

Heart stopping, Oberyn followed his bodyguard without question.

 

 

SANSA

 

The nearest hospital with a pre-natal care was in Moat Caitlin, and it took them about an hour to get there – Sansa's hormones had calmed down by then, and she was fully awake.

Both the babies had started kicking again, which was good, and made her smile.

Her stomach was still contracting, though, and she was no fool : this was not good news.

They were met at the door by a bunch of doctors and nurses who threw around words that Sansa did not understand, but she did hear 'broken wrist', 'contractions', 'concussion'. She was starting to panic, and she forced herself to breathe in slowly, breathe out deeply, in, out, in, out.

Arielle was trailing behind them, but couldn't follow when they got her into the emergency room.

 

 

OBERYN

 

They had arrived at the hospital seconds after the ambulance had, but they had been redirected to the front of the estiblishement, while Sansa got into the back. No matter, Oberyn thought, they couldn't prevent him to get to his wife, not in a milion years.

He and Daemon rushed to a member of staff, the first they saw, then ran to the E.R as fast as they could without becoming dangerous to the patients – Daemon saw Arielle before Oberyn could.

The poor woman was shivering, a blanket over her shoulders, looking like she was lost; when she saw them both, she broke down and started to fully weep.

“Where is Sansa ?” Oberyn asked as Daemon took her in his arms.

The woman pointed. Turning around, Oberyn saw his wife on a bed, surrounded by doctors. Immediately, he went to her.

“Sir,” a nurse tried to stop him, “you can't go in there.”

“Like Hells I can't, she's my wife.”

He pushed on, walked into the room as calmly as he could, ignoring the doctors and nurses.

“Oberyn ?”

Her voice was so small that it terrified her more than the doctors and the monitors and the machine. She, too, started to cry when she saw him. He kissed her lips, her cheek, her forehead as she clung to him with her right hand.

“You're okay,” he breathed, “you're okay.”

 

 

SANSA

 

He was here. He was here. She couldn't believe he was here.

She was shaking in earnest, and she held onto him with everything that she got, trying to calm down, listen to his voice, his soothing words.

Unfortunately, another contraction hit her, and she soon was moaning in pain.

“What's going on, what's happening ?”

Oberyn had turned to the doctor, the one that was left, the one who was taking care of her broken wrist.

“Your wife is in labour.”

The pain was subsiding, slowly, and Sansa could once again concentrate on her surroundings.

“What do you mean, she's in labour ? She's only six months along, she can't have the baby now.”

Sansa squeezed Oberyn's hand, trying to reassure him, but he didn't look at her. She could fear in his features as she squeezed again, harder this time.

“Most of the time, preterm labour subsides on its own. Our OBGYN has been notified, she will be here shortly to walk you through it. But for now, we wait.”

“We wait ?”

This time, when she tugged on him to look at her, he did. She smiled up at him.

“We wait,” she repeated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading :) We're approaching the end, now - only a few more chapters to go !  
> If you enjoy this story, please consider visiting my ko-fi page ( Ko-fi.com/captainenvy ) and maybe buy me a coffee so that I can continue writing it ! Thanks !


	22. Chapter 22

Oberyn had been behaving like a lion in a cage from the moment he had been told to wait until the moment the OBGYN entered the room. In the meantime, she had been moved from the ER to the hospital in itself. Arielle was sitting on the only seat in the room, holding Sansa's right hand – her other hand was now in a cast, from the base of her fingers to the middle of her forearm – while they watched Oberyn pace.

She was still experiencing contractions, but they were not getting closer, on the contrary – they were now ten minutes apart, three minutes more than previously monitered.

“Hi,” the doctor said when she entered the room, walking straight towards Sansa, smiling at her, “I'm doctor Mordane.”

“Hi,” Sansa answered, smiling back.

“I've heard we've been having some contractions here ?”

“Yes, but it's getting better. Ten minutes apart, and much less painful than the first ones.”

Oberyn had joined them near the bed, looking like he was about to kill the doctor for not being here earlier. To Sansa's surprise – and, she had to admit, some joy – Arielle elbowed him the ribs, frowning, staring him down.

“You haven't pushed, have you ?”

“No, ma'am.”

“Good.”

She reached for the ultrasound machine that a nurse had previously brought in, and asked Sansa to uncover her belly.

“Let's see how baby is doing.”

“Babies,” Sansa corrected her.

The doctor smiled. “Twins. Neat.”

The gel was cold, as it always was, but not one of the people present in the room cared, not even Sansa.

“Okay, let's see what we can find.”

The four of them were watching the monitor as though it held all the answers to their problems. Doctor Mordane found the babies easily, and as soon as they appeared on the screen, it was as though a collective sigh of relief was released.

“Here is baby number one,” the doctor announced as a baby appeared – the baby on her right side.

The heartbeat rang fast and strong, and Sansa felt some worry shake off of her shoulders.

“And here,” the doctor continued as she moved the machine across Sansa's belly, “is baby number two.”

This time, the heartbeat just wasn't as healthy, and Sansa turned to the doctor to figure out how worried she should get.

“This one has taken a bit of a shock, but we knew that already.” the woman said, motionning to Sansa's cast. “But I see no leak, no signs of anything wrong, so we should be okay.”

Again, a sigh of relief ran through the room.

“That being said, we are going to need to monitor baby number two, the boy, closely. Once a week to start, and then we'll see how it evolves.”

“Okay,” Sansa agreed. “That's easy enough.”

“The next part might not be.”

Sansa could feel Oberyn's frown without even seeing it, and she smiled a little.

“Strict home rest, no working, no travelling, no stressing.”

“Oh. Until when ?”

“Until birth.”

As she saw that Sansa was about to protest, she hammered in the point.

“Doctor's orders.”

 

 

Three days later, she had already had enough.

“I'm bored !” Sansa exclaimed from the bed, at three o'clock in the afternoon, as Oberyn was sitting next to her, wrapped up in a sweater, laughing at her misfortune.

They had played cards in the morning, read, watched tv, and now all Sansa wanted to do was move, but Oberyn wouldn't let her. Strict rest, he reminded her.

She sighed, started to mock crying.

“But I'm so bored.”

Oberyn laughed at her misfortune, which made Sansa shoot him an evil glare – well, as evil as she could muster in front of her husband's laughing face – and cross her arms.

“You're mean,” she told him.

“I love you more,” he answered, kissing her forehead.

Rolling her eyes, Sansa huffed.

A knock on the open door cleared both their minds.

“The police are here,” Daemon told them, standing by the door. “They want to talk with mrs Martell.”

Sansa frowned. She was expecting it, of course, - you don't have a gun fight in your house without the cops wanting to talk to you – but now that it was here, it made her uneasy.

Which Oberyn immediately guessed, and he joked to calm her down.

“Does that cure your boredom ?” he asked, wriggling his eyebrows.

She giggled in response before getting out of bed. Daemon extended a hand towards her, which she took, smiling, and the three of them left for the living-room.

 

Arielle – bless this woman – had already served the police people coffee when they arrived.

“Good afternoon,” Sansa greeted them as she walked in the room.

The three officers, two in uniform, the other not, stood up as one. She sat opposite them, Oberyn on her right, Daemon staying on her left, jaw clenched.

“How can I help you, officers ?”

“I'm detective Reed, these are officers Blackfish and Motte. Might we talk in private ?”

“Good luck with that.” Oberyn stated, taking her hand.

Daemon said nothing, and didn't move an inch either. Amused, but also a little thankful, Sansa rolled her eyes.

“Sorry, detective. We tend to be a little overprotective of each other.”

“All right. Let me cut to the chase, then : we're here to get a better sense of what happened in your kitchen two days ago.”

“It's rather simple, really : I was talking with Tyrion Lannister when his sister, Cersei, came in and started to threaten us with a gun.”

“I have the whole conversation on my phone,” Oberyn assented.

Detective Reed nodded, then gestured to one of her colleagues to get Oberyn's phone.

“She hit me with the barrel of said gun, twice, and I fell down, twice. After that, I'm afraid I didn't look too closely, I was busy trying to protect my children.”

“Why was Tyrion Lannister in your kitchen, mrs Martell ?”

Sansa sighed.

“Because I was talking with him.”

“Why were you talking to him ?”

“Because I wanted to understand why he had done what he had done.”

“So you knew,” detective Reed pointed out. “That's aiding and abetting a criminal. You could face serious charges here.”

“I know.”

“But the district attorney is willing to drop those charges if you cooperate fully with both investigations.”

Sansa looked at detective Reed long and hard, nodding absently, before she asked hier a simple question.

“Have you ever been to King's Landing, detective ?”

“I don't see how that's relevant,” the woman frowned.

“The police down there is ...” she looked for the words, not wanting to sound too fatalist, “rather biased. And trigger happy.”

“So you saved him, is that right ?”

Sansa could tell the detective wasn't too pleased with her answers.

“He's a criminal, yes, but he doesn't deserve to die.”

“Have you any evidence to your allegations ?” One of the officers in uniform asked.

“Plenty.” Oberyn answered, sliding one of Doran's business card on the table towards him. “Ask my brother, he'll provide it for you.”

“We will.”

“Tell me, detective,” Sansa pointed, “there was a certain folder on Tywin Lannister's desk. A folder that contained a copy of the proof that I have of the crimes that were committed against me when I was a teenager. Has _that_ been put into evidence ?”

Neither one of the three police officers said anything, but Sansa knew she had made her point.

“Anything else I can answer for you, detective ?”

“I know you've already pressed charges for assault,” the detective continued, “but let me remind you that you will have to testify in court.”

“Where will the trial take place ?”

“Well, Tyrion Lannister killed his father in King's Landing, so as soon as he is out of the hospital, we'll transfer him south, but Cersei Lannister will be tried here, in the north.”

“Is Tyrion doing okay ?”

They had learned, two days ago, that Cersei had shot Tyrion before the police was able to disarm her, and that he had been in critical condition. They had no other news since.

“He is still fighting. The bullet perfored one of his lungs, and the doctors had trouble taken the bullet out, so he might be in the hospital a while longer.”

Oberyn took her right hand, squeezed it gently, reassuring her with a smile; Sansa reciprocated it without a thought. Daemon reappeared at that moment, handing an identical copy to the folder that was on Tywin Lannister's desk to the officers.

“Thank you.” Detective Reed stood up. “We'll be in touch if we have any other questions.”

“Of course,” Sansa smiled, standing up as well, although slower.

She watched the three officers start to leave, accompanied by Arielle, when she interrupted them.

“Detective Reed ?”

The woman turned around.

“Hmm ?”

“Do you think she'll be convincted ? Cersei Lannister ?”

“If we have all the evidence, she should be.”

Sansa nodded, then turned to Oberyn, kissed his cheek. Her husband looked back at her, puzzled.

“What was that for ?”

“Because I love you.” Sansa winked. “And because I'm going to the bathroom, and I don't want you to follow me.”

 

 

The investigation was on every news channel. Pictures of Cersei, pictures of Sansa, pictures of the both of them together flooded the screens while news anchors and journalists droned on and on about what was known, what was deduced, what was guessed.

It took three days for the county PD to determine that, despite the folder being present at the first crime scene in King's Landing, it was never entered into evidence – which meant a internal affairs' investigation was now launched too. The content of the folder, at least some of it, had been released to the public, who was now taking to the streets to ask, loudly and repeatedly, for the deposition of their King. So far, the protesters had only been met with the army.

There were, in the small village of Winterfell, a cozy, quaint inn – it had, in the last couple of days, been filled to the brim with reporters and members of the press trying to get an exclusive. Some of them had even been ringing the bell, giving Arielle a fright as she opened the door the first time.

Sansa would watch those programms on the telly while she was stroking her belly, not feeling much of anything but tired. Most of the time, either Arielle, Oberyn or Daemon would be in the room with her, making sure she was safe or healthy, but she wasn't up for much talking. All that she wanted to do was fast forward to the trial, the sentencing, so that she could get on with her life. It pained her that Tyrion – who was now better, well enough to be moved – would go to jail, of course, but she couldn't do much about it, except make sure that he had a fair trial.

Detective Reed had been back at the house several times, to ask more questions or update them on the investigation, and she and Sansa had talked, just the two of them, for a long time one afternoon, and not necessarily about Cersei and Joffrey.

If anything, Sansa was glad to be back in Winterfell.

She couldn't go outside – too cold for her baby boy, according to the doc – but she could sit in the veranda, watching snow fall through the glass, surrounded by memories of her family, of her time here.

It was there that Oberyn found her one evening, as Sansa was nearing her eighth month of pregnancy.

“You okay, little wife ?” he inquired as he sat on a chair to her left.

She started off by nodding, silent for a little while longer, her right hand caressing her swollen stomach, before she spoke softly.

“It was Arya's birthday, a few days ago.”

In the corner of her eye, she saw Oberyn look down for a second, before he looked back at her.

“She would have turned twenty-two years old. An adult,” Sansa laughed, though without good humour. “Bran would be nineteen going on twenty, Rickon sixteen, Robb twenty-eight and Jon twenty-seven.”

“I'm sorry, little wife.” Oberyn told her, extanding a hand towards her.

She made no move to take it.

“For a long time, I thought that it was my fault. That I had killed them by telling the truth to my mother. I thought it was my fault.”

“What changed ?”

“Detective Reed.”

She saw the frown on her husband's brow and cleared it up for him.

“When she was here yesterday, she told me that she had been in King's Landing for a couple of weeks. She found some evidence suggesting that the abduction of my siblings had been in the works before my parents knew about Joffrey.”

She swallowed, hard, not wanting to cry.

“They were all dead people walking.” she chuckled sadly. “All of them but me.”

“How do you know that ?”

“There was a room, in the palace, connected to the King's chamber. Detective Reed found clothes in my size, shoes in my size, pictures of me and my family.”

She saw Oberyn gritting his teeth as she turned her head towards him.

“He was planning on keeping you.” he stated, matter-of-factly.

“Yup.”

The two of them kept quiet for a while, Sansa looking back outside, feeling the weight of her husband's gaze on her.

“Wait,” Oberyn exclaimed after a minute or two of silence, “how did she get into the King's Chambers ?”

“An anonymous tip.” Sansa chuckled.

“The Tyrells ?”

“My money's on the Queen of Thorns.”

They both smiled at the other for a second. After some more quiet, Sansa was finally ready to tell her husband about what had been on her mind since she had found out she was pregnant.

“I want to change my name.”

Shock registered on Oberyn's face.

“What ?”

“I don't want to be mrs. Martell any more.”

She could see that he was emotional, but trying to hide it – and so she got to the rest quickly.

“This is my home. Our babies are going to be born here, which is” she shook her head in disbelief, “something I would never have imagined, yet wanted so bad. I want them to carry my name. I don't want the Starks to end with me.”

“So what are you saying, Sansa ?”

“I want to hyphen it.”

She turned to him.

“Martell-Stark.”

“Martell-Stark,” he repeated, nodding, smiling. “I'm okay with that.”

“Good.” Sansa was smiling, too.

She patted the seat next to her.

“Now come here and tell your son to stop kicking me.”

Chuckling, Oberyn got off his seat and kneeled in front of his wife, putting both of his palms on her belly, trying to frown and be serious.

“Stop kicking your mother.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, for leaving comments and kudos ! You guys are the best, especially considering that I've left you hanging for a long time.  
> We're in the last mile here, and I'm already writing chap 23 ! We'll get to meet the Martell-Stark babies soon ;)  
> If you enjoy this story, please consider visiting my ko-fi page ( Ko-fi.com/captainenvy ) and maybe buy me a coffee so that I can continue writing it, and more ! Thanks !


	23. Chapter 23

Sansa had made the change from Martell to Martell-Stark a few days ago, and anyone could see the change that wearing her name with pride again did to her demeanor. She smiled more, laughed more, talked more; she was back to feeling energetic in the mornings instead of exhausted.

Even the new OBGYN, doctor Luwin, agreed.

He had started doing home visits to check on Sansa and Oberyn's babies a week after the 'incident', and had been a regular at the house every friday since. It was he who did the check-ups on their son (and their daughter, too) and made sure everything was running smoothly.

One friday, only a week before Sansa was due to enter her final month of pregnancy, he dropped some news at the end of their appointement, as Sansa was covering her belly.

“All right,” he started, smiling as he always did, “I won't see you again next week.”

“What ? Why ?” Oberyn jumped.

“Well, the babies are doing good. Both of them. I think it's time that doctor Mordane, down in Moat Caitlin, sees you again. Escpecially with the babies being due soon.”

“So that's,” Sansa attempted, “good news ?”

Doctor Luwin chuckled.

“Very good news.”

“Oh thank the Gods !” Sansa exclaimed as Oberyn breathed a sigh of relief.

The three of them shared a laugh.

“Does that mean I can leave the house ?”

 _Please say yes_ , she thought, _oh Gods please say yes_. Next to her, Oberyn looked like he was thinking the exact opposite.

“It means you still have to be very careful, but there's no reason why you couldn't.”

Before Sansa could rejoice, he lifted a finger and specified his decision.

“On days that are warm.”

“It's winter in the North, doctor. No days are warm.” Oberyn told him.

Sansa put her palm on her husband's cheek and clarified the order for him.

“When there's no snow and no wind, that's when it's warm, babe.”

She watched, amused, as Oberyn sighed and cursed under his breath.

 

* * *

 

“A balloon.” said Oberyn.

“A moon.” countered Sansa.

They were, a couple days after doctor Luwin's last visit, suiting up to go outside and playing a game of 'what does it look like Sansa has ingested now that she's nine month pregnant with twins' as they zipped up their coats.

“The sun.”

“Well, that's just rude.” Sansa pouted, trying to make Oberyn laugh.

He was wearing, under his winter coat : an undershirt, a shirt, a long-sleeved shirt, a sweater and a jacket. She could see that he was warm now, but he wasn't used to the cold, not a cold like she had known when she were a kid. She, on the other end, would have gone out in only a jacket if she could have, reveling in the freezing air, if only for a few minutes, before she would run back into the house to get a coat; but she had children that needed protection from the winter, and so she covered them, and herself, well. (Not as well as Oberyn would have liked her to, though.)

Once they were outside, she took her husband's hand and took a snobbish air.

“Welcome to Winterfell House, home of the mighty Starks, lords and ladies of the North. Please refrain from taking pictures during the presentation.”

Oberyn laughed, kissing her, using their closedness to check on the status of her woolly hat and earmuffs.

“Will you stop ?” she exclaimed as she swatted his hands away, smilling.

“It's not warm enough. Let's go back inside, okay ?”

“Oberyn.”

She grabbed the pans of his coat and looked at him in the eyes.

“The sun is shining. The snow has stopped, the wind is mild. You won't get better than this so close to winter, and I just can't stay inside any longer. Let's just enjoy it, okay ?”

He sighed.

“Okay,” he assented, after a few seconds of silence.

“Thank you. Now, follow me and we'll start the visit.”

She took him everywhere around the grounds, the stables, the barns, the farm; they ventured to the edge of the forest, not going fully in, and they walked, hand in hand, to the village, only a kilometer away from the house.

The press had left, and things were calm again. There was some activity in the village, and they stopped for coffee and hot chocolate at the inn. They were comfortably installed near the frosted windows, and the air was warm, the atmosphere relaxed.

“So what was wrong with it ?” Oberyn asked her as she was sipping on her drink.

“Hmm?” she frowned, not sure what he meant.

“Winterfell,” he clarified. “Why did you want to leave so bad ? So far, I haven't seen anything wrong with it. It's nice.”

Sansa smiled.

“First of all, I'm happy that you like it, it means a lot.”

She sighed, trying to remind herself of who she was at thirteen.

“I thought it was boring. Nothing ever happens here.”

“Ah.”

“I wanted to be where the people were, where the culture was, and the glitz and the glamour.” She rolled her eyes at her teenage stupidity and vapidity. “I guess I wanted more.”

“Would you have been happy ? Had you stayed ?”

“I don't know. I guess I wouldn't have been for a long time and then I would have left for college. I don't know what would have happened after that, though. Probably would have tried to marry rich.” she joked.

Her husband laughed with her.

“Well, you did go to college and married rich. That's something, right ?”

“Yeah.”

She smiled, a little sadly, put down her cup.

“How about you, why did you leave Sunspear when you did ?”

She watched as Oberyn also put down his cup, took a deep breath.

“Elia wanted to follow her boyfriend to King's Landing. Since I didn't like him or didn't trust him, I went with her. To keep an eye on her.” he chuckled, derisively. “Fat lot of good it did her.”

Sansa leaned in and took his hand.

“I'm sure she felt better having you there.”

She squeezed his hand.

“Having Robb and Jon with me, it made everything better.”

They stayed silent for a while, drinking and looking out the window at the passerbys before Sansa got up from her chair, approached it so that she could sit next to Oberyn, sat and took his hand in hers.

“Tell me about her ?”

Oberyn looked at her for a second, then turned to look straight ahead, avoid her gaze. He sighed.

“She was -” he seemed to be looking for the right words. “- a little older than I was. Wiser, kinder, better in every way.”

To this, Sansa wanted to protest, but she kept quiet, only holding his hand tighter. He looked back at her.

“She loved Rhaegar with all that she had, although I'm not sure that _he_ loved her, too. Not as much as she did.”

He swallowed, hard, sadness and guilt written across his face.

“Ultimately, it was what killed her. Seeing him move on, slowly at first, then in leaps and bound, and yet unwilling to let her go. She felt him slip away, inch by inch, stopped eating, stopped sleeping...”

He turned to Sansa.

“She became a ghost. And I couldn't do anything to help.”

“Oh, baby.”

Sansa's heart was tight in her chest, and she nuzzled against Oberyn's arm, trying to comfort him.

“I thought it would get better, especially when she found out that she was pregnant. She – Her whole demeanor changed. Suddenly, she was full of life, and promise, and happiness.”

“What happened ?”

“It was a difficult pregnancy. The doctors warned her that it could kill her, to get it to term, but she wouldn't listen. She was having Rhaegar's baby.”

He chuckled darkly.

“And he wasn't there. Missed the appointements, didn't read the books. He was full of excuses and promises, but in the end, he was in another woman's arms when she died.”

He looked at Sansa and whispered, somewhat ashamed.

“I could have killed him. Gods, I would have if Doran hadn't been here.”

She tried to smile at him, reassure him, but she couldn't find anything that would make him feel better. Instead, she asked :

“Is that why you've been so worried ?”

He shrugged. “It's hard not to think about it.”

Taking the hand that she had been holding, she slid it across her stomach.

“I'm not going to die. I promise.”

She smiled a little.

“I'm going to live, from our children's diapers until the day I have to put adult ones on you.”

He laughed, his whole face changing, as if he was surprised that he could laugh.

“Until that day, uh ?”

“Yep. And not one day more.”

“Or I can not need diapers.”

“Well, it's kind of utopic to think you'll still be continent when you're a hundred and three years old, babe.”

“103 ? Really ?”

“What ?” She raised her shoulders. “You have to. Otherwise how are we going to meet our great-grandchildren ?”

“If we have them.”

“If we have them,” she assented, smiling.

“Let's focus on the first two children, first.” He kissed her forehead.

“First two ?”

“Of six, yes.”

He winked as she scoffed.

“Four more babies ?! What am I, a factory ?”

She was joking, of course – she would be happy to give Oberyn ten, twenty children if he wanted them all. After all, she had come from a big family, and she had always wanted a big family. Having them with Oberyn was just the icing on the cake.

He was laughing.

“Yes, four more.”

“Fine, but you're carrying some of them instead of me.”

“Deal.”

 

* * *

 

During the whole drive to Moat Caitlin the week after, Sansa was almost jumping on her seat, which made Daemon, Arielle and Oberyn laugh. She couldn't believe she was now in her final month.

Her belly was so big, so round, that even the maternity clothes were a little snug – Sansa and Arielle had to alter the pants and the tops to accommodate both her belly and her boobs. Her feet were crazy swollen, there were veins popping up all across her skin, stretch marks too – Oberyn loved to follow them with a finger –. She wasn't uncomfortable yet, despite what the books and the blogs said she might; she was glowing. And she needed to pee, too. Not too bad, though.

The wait in the ultrasound room was the worst – she felt like she could burst at any minute. She was excited, Oberyn was amused, and they were chatting happily, waiting for the doctor.

“When is Doran coming ?”

“Ha !” Oberyn exclaimed. “Good luck with that. He says he's not getting caught dead in the snow.”

“Oh, come on ! His nephew and niece are going to be here, soon. He _has_ to be here.”

“Like I said, good luck with that.”

Sansa hoisted herself up on her elbows.

“You think I can't convince him ?”

“I think he doesn't want to be here, babe.”

“Like he has a choice.”

She laid back down as Oberyn laughed.

Doctor Mordane entered the room as they were still joking with each other, and greeted them with a grin.

“Good afternoon. I see our future mum is feeling better.”

“I am, I'm good.” Sansa assented. “Ready to see if our babies are ready to come out.”

“Let's see where they are, then, shall we ?”

After a minute or two of silence, the doctor turned to the expectant parents with a smile.

“Everything looks good,” she reassured them. “Babies are turned, babies are ready.”

“How's our boy doing ?” Oberyn asked, mirroring Sansa's questionning stare.

“Better. Heartbeat's only slightly under what is considered normal, but just a smidge. He should be fine.”

“Should be ?”

“Well, there's always a chance, unfortunately. But in your case, the odds are on your side. So don't worry, and I'll see you next week, okay ?”

The three of them said goodbye, and Oberyn helped Sansa up and smoothed her dress back for her, kissed her forehead.

“I can't believe we're only four short weeks away,” Sansa smiled.

“Are you excited ?” Oberyn asked her, taking her hand.

Outside the room, they met back with Daemon and Arielle.

“I am. Although it's going to be weird to not be carrying them around anymore.”

“They might not be in your belly any longer, miss Sansa,” Arielle told her in good humour, “but trust me, you'll still be carrying them around.”

“That's true.”

They joked and laughed with each other – Daemon even showed a smile or two, though never when they could see it, Sansa had only noticed it in the corner of her eye -, reassured that everything was okay, that they would meet the babies soon.

Once at home, Sansa stopped Oberyn in the small living-room by the front door, waited until it was just the two of them.

“I was wondering, she started, “if you could live without Daemon for a while. A long while.”

“What, why ?” Oberyn frowned, before he shook his head once. “Look, I know you don't like him, but I have every faith in him. He's good at what he does, I promise.”

“Oberyn -” Sansa started, but was interrupted.

“He's good.” Oberyn repeated, pleading with his eyes, which made Sansa smile.

“Boy, you're really attached to him, aren't you ?”

“Well, it's hard to be with someone every day and not form a bond.” he sighed. “Don't ask me to fire him, Sansa, because I-”

“I don't want you to fire him.” Sansa said before he could speak again.

“You don't ?”

“No.”

Sansa waited a second so that Oberyn could play catch up, and maybe realize on his own what she wanted to ask. But he only frowned, looking at her, so she ended up kissing his nose, smiling.

“I would like for him to look after the twins.”

“Oh.”

Oberyn's face lit up as he finally understood what Sansa wanted.

“Yeah, I agree.”

“Good. Cause I've already asked him and he's on board.” she smiled, somewhat sheepishly, somewhat amused.

“You-”

Oberyn rolled his eyes, gently grabbed her to hold her close, kissing the top of her head.

“I thought you didn't like Daemon. What made you change your mind ?”

“I didn't. But then, when you were bedridden, we talked.”

“You talked ?”Oberyn frowned again.

Amused, Sansa decided to tease her husband a little.

“Yes. We have a five year plan on how we're going to run away together.”

Her only response, at first, was an eyeroll, then a smile.

“Good, that means I got five years to make you want to stay.”

“Ooh,” she cooed, intrigued. “Do you have a plan ?”

“Of course. It starts by trying to put more babies in you. Repeatedly,” he winked.

“Nice." Sansa laughed. "Very strong start.”

 

* * *

 

At the start of her thirty-seventh week, Sansa was excited, although a little blue to know that she was soon to part with her pregnancy.

At the end of her fortieth week, however, things were different.

She groaned in frustration, sitting alone on one of the kitchen benches, in the very early morning at the beginning of february. She and Oberyn had tried everything on the doctor's list to induce labour – sex, spicy food, red reasberry leaf tea, caster oil, you name it, they tried it – but the twins still held on.

She was warm, too warm, her back was killing her, her stomach, too. She was tired but couldn't close her eyes, she was hungry but couldn't eat anything, wanted to walk but couldn't stay on her feet.

“Dudes,” she was telling them when Daemon walked in on her, eyes still filled with sleep, “please. Get out.”

“Is everything all right, mrs Martell ?”

Sansa looked up, startled.

“Sorry. Did I wake you ?” she sheepishly inquired.

“No, I was – I needed some water.” He tilted his head on one side. “Why aren't you asleep ?”

She groaned again. “I drank so much of that stupid tea, I can't sleep. Plus, I'm really uncomfortable.”

“Is there anything I can do for you ?”

“Yeah, help me up.”

The man crossed the room in two steps and was opposite her in a flash, taking her hands and gently hoisting her up. As she was making the effort to get back on her feet, she felt something give way inside her, followed by a small splash on the ground.

The two of them stilled, and Sansa could read something akin to horror in Daemon's eyes.

“I didn't pee my pants.” she said, almost as much for her benefit as for his.

“Then, what -”

He was stopped by a strong pressure on his arms as Sansa squeezed them tight, experiencing what she believed was her first contraction. The pain of it stretched from her womb to her back, and she had to hold on as hard as she could to the man in his pj's, looking at her as though he had never been more frightened in his life.

She, on the other hand, despite the sharp pain, was exctatic. She looked up to the sky, then to the window, in the direction of the weirwood tree.

“Thank you.” she whispered. “Finally.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two more chapters to go ! Are you guys excited ? I know I am !  
> If you enjoy this story, please consider visiting my ko-fi page ( Ko-fi.com/captainenvy ) and maybe buy me a coffee so that I can continue writing it, and more ! Thanks !


	24. Chapter 24

Before she could do or say anything, Daemon had seated Sansa back on the bench, and had stormed out to wake up the whole house : Oberyn first, then Arielle, then Manfrey.

She heard feet running through the house, stomping, almost jumping, and Oberyn arrived so fast that he almost appeared next to her. She even shouted in surprise as he took her hand.

“Are you okay ?” he asked her, a little breathless.

She giggled.

“I'm fine.” she said once, then repeated a second time when Arielle, Daemon and Manfrey appeared at the kitchen door. “I'm fine. Look, I've just had once contraction so far, and until they are four minutes apart or less, there isn't much to do. This could a while, so maybe you guys should go back to bed.”

Instead, Arielle walked in and started to prepare some coffee; soon, Manfrey joined her into making something to eat, while Daemon stood by the door, silent, arms crossed, not going anywhere.

She turned to Oberyn.

“I don't suppose I can't get _you_ to go back to bed.”

“Not in a million years, little wife.”

Sansa sighed.

“Fine. Nobody sleeps. Everyone waits.”

Her hands were up, signaling that she was done protesting.

In the end, though, everyone but Sansa fell back asleep. All in the same room – the big living room, the family room, to which they had moved soon after -, but they fell asleep, all in the chairs or sofas, despite the coffee. It didn't really matter – she was now four hours in, and the contractions were still eight to nine minutes apart. She, too, was seated in a chair, looking out the window at the sunrise. She was dozing off, head against the chair, sleeping nine minutes by nine minutes, until she was forcefull awakened by a big contraction, making her shout softly in pain.

She heard a jolt behind her, a Oberyn was by her side in a second.

“What's wrong ?”

“This one was a bitch,” she groaned, clutching her side.

Unsure of what to do, Oberyn was frowning, looking at her, caressing her right shoulder softly. She was about to reassure him when another big contraction hit her, and she bit her lip to keep from crying out loud.

“Okay, this one definetely wasn't four minutes apart from the first one. We're going to the hospital.”

Oberyn turned around, presumably to find Daemon, but no words were spoken. When Sansa turned her head, she realized that the man had already left, and the sound of a motor was heard.

Her husband gave her a hand to get her up, Manfrey had fetched everyone's coats and scarves, Arielle met them at the door, running back with Sansa's maternity bag in hand.

 _Damn, her team was good_ , she thought.

The normally one-hour long drive passed by in a flash, which led Sansa to believe that Daemon was driving very much over the speed limit – not that she could complain; contractions hit her, one after another, stopping barely a full minute before another wrecked her. It was all she could do, really, not to scream and squeeze the life of her husband's arm.

Manfrey has stayed at the house to get everything finalized for the babies – the nursery was done, the furniture placed, but he wanted to make sure everything was as clean as can be, the air warm enough and clear enough, that they had enough diapers and baby products to last them a lifetime.

Arielle was in the front seat, on the phone with the hospital.

Oberyn was next to his wife, holding her hand and looking lost as to what he should do to help her.

Sansa just wanted to get it over with, at this point.

 

They arrived at the hospital around seven in the morning, and the waiting room was quiet. Daemon and Arielle had run in front of them to get a nurse or a doctor while Sansa wobbled , a few steps behind, Oberyn refusing to leave her side, still holding her hand.

She would squeeze it, hard, everytime that she was hit by a contraction, but so far, her husband had said nothing, hadn't shown signs of pain. But he was pale, she realized under the hospital lights. Very pale.

So while they waited, she pushed his hand away.

“Go get something to eat.” she told him.

“I'm fine.” he answered, smiling.

Unfortunately for him, she was tired, she was in pain, she wasn't having it. She grabbed his sleeve and jerked him towards her. Before she could speak, she read the surprise in his eyes.

“I am about to give birth to two children. Not one, but two. I cannot do it with my husband passed out. So you're going to do as I say, get something to eat and something to drink. Got it ?”

He nodded once, the shadow of a smile on his lips.

“Got it,” he said, kissing her forehead. “I'll be back as soon as I can. Okay ?”

She watched him get up and leave.

“And get me a milkshake while you're there.”

Oberyn was smiling as he turned around.

“What flavour ?”

“I don't care, as long as it's thick and packed full of sugar.”

He nodded, made to turn again when she interrupted him. Again.

“And a cheeseburger. With bacon.”

Oberyn nodded again, this time with a huge grin eating half of his face.

“No pickles !” she called after him, and she swore she heard him chuckle.

Soon after, a nurse came by.

“Mrs Martell-Stark ?”

Sansa would have smiled, but she was too busy destroying the armrest of her chair as she was wrecked by pain.

She was put in a wheelchair, pushed to a private room, and installed in bed while another nurse, who introduced herself as Jeyne, was fumbling around her stomach to get a reading on the state of the babies.

“Arielle, could you go and wait for Oberyn, bring him back here when he arrives ?”

“I'll go,” Daemon started, but Sansa stopped him.

“No. You stay. I need to destroy someone's hand and Arielle makes food too good to compromize.”

Everyone in the room laughed, but Sansa wasn't joking.

“Go,” she told Arielle, who smiled at her before she left. “Now,” she turned to the nurses, “who's giving me drugs ?”

She lifted herself up on her elbows, realized something was wrong when she saw that Jeyne had left, and that the remainding nurse, a baby herself, was avoiding her gaze.

“What's your name ?” Sansa asked her.

The girl blushed. “Dolly, ma'am.”

“Dolly,” Sansa repeated, taking Daemon's hand. “Tell me what's going on.”

Opposite Sansa, she was fidgeting, looking at the door, not wanting to say it.

“Dolly, tell me what's going on. Now !” Sansa pushed, not shouting, but not messing around either.

“The umbilical cord is stuck around one of the babies's leg.” the nurse said, very fast, looking deeply embarassed.

Despite the uproar in her brain, Sansa was quiet. She tugged on Daemon's sleeve.

“Get me my husband.”

“Yes ma'am.”

In a flash, he, too, was gone, leaving Sansa alone with her thoughts and her rising panic.

“Okay, Dolly,” she said in a voice she hoped calm, “how long have you been doing this ?”

“It's my second week in the neonatal department.”

Sansa nodded.

“Tell me everything you know about how we're going to fix this.”

 

 

OBERYN

 

Oberyn was waiting in line in the nearest fast food restaurant – he already had the milkshake, not yet the burger -, trying to be patient when everything inside him was screaming to go back to the hospital.

He wasn't hungry, though, too anxious to be tired, to be thirsty. Soon, he would be a father.

A father of two.

What if he wasn't good enough ? What if two at a time was too much ? Too much for him, too much for her ? What if he wasn't ready ? What if _she_ wasn't ready ?

What if he turned out to be a crappy dad, like his father had been, and Sansa left him, like his mother had ?

He wouldn't survive a minute without her.

Fear was rising in his bones, his heart slowly starting to beat faster, and suddenly he was slurping on the strawberry milkshake just to stay standing, not fall over. Screw the food, he had to go back.

 _Not screw the food_ , another voice inside him spoke up, a voice he recognized as belonging to his wife. _Give me my damn milkshake !_

She was right, of course; Sansa had given him one job. Doing it right was the last thing he could do, considering that she was about to give birth to his first two children.

He had asked for four more. Now he thought to himself, _two is good_. _Two is enough_.

It took him a second to realize that his phone was going crazy in his pocket. Putting the shake down, he recovered it to find that Daemon was calling him.

Immediately, a wave of dread swept over him, and too many bad scenarios made their way into his brain.

As soon as he picked up, his bodyguard told him what was going on, and why he needed to haul ass back to the hospital.

 _Screw the food_ , Oberyn thought again as he sprinted out of the restaurant.

 

 

SANSA

 

She was now shouting in pain, clinging to the sides of the bed, refusing and ignoring her body's will to push, just like the doctor had told her to do.

They were readying an operation room for them, she'd also told Sansa. The babies needed to be delivered via c-section, to make sure they could detach the umbilical cord off of her baby boy's leg.

He wasn't even born and that kid already had severe problems. _It wasn't fair_.

The pain wouldn't stop as they were, the nurses and the doc, preparing her for the operation, hooking her to machines while she did her best to remain calm, to breathe like she was instructed to by one of the three nurses in the room, to ignore the pain that was wrecking her entire lower body.

“Can we go yet ?” she ended up shouting to no one in particular when she didn't believe she could hold it any longer.

She then heard the doc dispatch a nurse. “Tell them I have a pregnant woman in pain, and that they have five minutes.”

Five minutes, Sansa thought. She could hold on for five minutes more. She could.

_Now, where in any of the seven hells was Oberyn ?_

 

 

OBERYN

 

Oberyn was running through the halls of the hospital, following the bodyguard back to his wife's delivery room, almost knocking the door of its hinges as he pushed through to get to his wife.

She was ashen, concentrated, holding onto the sides of the bed for dear life, forcefully breathing in and out, cursing when pain would hit her.

“What are you all standing around for ?” he roared to the frightened nurses, making his way to Sansa.

She didn't turn her head, didn't reach out to him – she was mad, neither at him nor at the nurses, but at the circumstances. He, too, was mad, but his own anger stemmed from fear, and it couldn't help him now. It couldn't help either of them.

He forced Sansa to look at him, took over the breathing exercises that the nurse on her right side, opposite him, was having her do, the ones they had learned in class not so long ago. He guided her, as calmly as he could, through deep inhalations and long exhalations, until she stopped looking at him, biting her lip to blood, her whole body tensing up.

“Shh,” he cooed, “you can do this. Don't push.”

“I'm scared, Oberyn.”

She was about to cry, he could tell.

She couldn't break down now, he thought. Not while her children needed her.

“I know, baby,” he whispered, getting close to her, caressing her hair off her face. “I'm scared too. But I love you, and I know you. You are the most fearless being on this entire planet. You can do this.”

She was sobbing, but nodding.

“I love you,” he repeated, kissing her forehead. “You can do this.”

He stood back up when doctor Mordane half walked, half ran back into the room.

“Mr Martell, I'm going to need you to follow nurse Dolly, she'll get you prepped and ready to go into the OR.”

“I can't leave-” Oberyn started, frowning.

The doctor interrupted him swiftly.

“Do you want to be in the room with your wife or not ?”

“Of course !”

“Then go. Go !”

With a last look at Sansa, a last kiss, a last whisper, Oberyn left.

“I'll see you soon.”

 

SANSA

 

Sansa watched Oberyn leave, her every bone trembling.

She was so scared, so scared. What if she _couldn't_ do this ? She loved those babies to death, but her boy was in pain. In the one place she thought she could keep her children safe, he had been hurt, twice. She had failed him, twice.

They had started to move her bed through the halls, and they weren't losing anytime to put her hair in a cap, wash her hands and arms, putting stuff inside of her, like I.V. or anesthesia; in short, to prepare her for the operation room where they would yank her children out of her.

She tried not to shake so much, but at one point, the nurse who had been spraying disinfectant on her arms was now just stroking them to keep her calm.

Doctor Mordane was speaking fast, not all her words directed at her, but Sansa couldn't follow any of it. She reminded herself to breathe, breathe through the pain, but it was too powerful, even for her.

The room was white, not bright white but clinical white – which she guessed was the point – but it made her even more uneasy. Oberyn entered the room a second after her, making a beeline for her, all clad in surgical robes, with the hair cap and the gloves.

“If I wasn't so scared,” she told him, “I would laugh right now.”

“If I wasn't so scared,” he repeated after he kissed her, “I would twirl and listen to you laugh.”

The anesthesia was already working fast through Sansa's body, and suddenly there was no more pain – but there was still ache, not because of the pain, but because of the fear. The two of them, Sansa and Oberyn, held onto each other tightly.

The doctors and nurses were putting some sort of wall between her chest and her abdomen, and neither of them could see what was happening down there – well, Oberyn could if her straightened up, but he seemed to refuse to get her out of her sight. For which, if she was honest, she was very grateful.

The beeping of so many different machines was so loud, she couldn't think.

“Mr Martell,” doctor Mordane called him from behind the curtain, “I'm going to need you to keep your wife calm. I can't do much if she keeps this kind of heartbeat up.”

Oberyn made no move to indicate that he had heard her, unwilling to look away from Sansa. He was squatting somewhat, just to be at the same height as her; she was looking right in his eyes as she cried, unwilling to look away either.

If she looked at anything else, she was sure she would lose it.

“Have I ever told you about the time I punched Jaime Lannister in the face ?” he asked her softly.

She shook her head through a sob.

“It was back when Elia and I lived in King's Landing. They were in college together, although she was a little older than he and Cersei.”

Sansa focused with all her might on her husband's story, trying, hard, not to think about how she couldn't feel anything of what was going on behind the curtain. She held his hand, and they were so close that she could feel a hint of strawberry on his breath.

“It was something, like, what, twenty years ago ?” he chuckled a little. “So you can imagine the hair and the clothes and the smell of hairspray everywhere.”

She smiled, although it faded quickly.

“Personally, I was wearing a yellow suit. With shoulder patches.”

He grimaced, and it made her laugh. She was almost certain she heard somebody else giggle, too.

“I had longer hair, too. Slicked back with so much hair gel.”

He was shaking his head in disbelief, and Sansa laughed a little louder.

“I'm going to need pictures.” she told him.

“I'm pretty sure Doran has some, somewhere. Blackmail material,” he winked.

His thumb was moving across her cheek gently.

“Anyways, we were at this fancy college party. Loud music, good beer, sea of socialite douches all around me.”

“Good times,” she giggled.

He lifted an eyebrow, winked.

“You know it. I think Elia was with Rhaegar's friends, talking about classes and exams and how Rhaegar was an asshat.”

Sansa giggled again.

“I think you're projecting.”

“Maybe. You can't prove me wrong though.”

“I'll take your word for it.”

“I was – I think I was outside, looking back at the house. I'm pretty sure I had just committed grand larceny, seeing at the bottle of scotch I'd just stolen from one of the shelves was smooth. And so good, I don't think I've ever had booze like that ever again.”

“You know, you could have told me you were a criminal _before_ you put babies in me.”

This time, Sansa was certain she heard chuckles, and not just from her husband.

“And risk you walking out ? Uh-uh.” he shook his head, pointing to the other side of the curtain. “These babies are my insurance policy, little wife. You can't ever leave me, now.”

He was making wide eyes, eyes that were trying to threaten her but made her laugh.

“Try me, bitch.” Sansa answered, winking.

“Fine. But if you leave, you won't ever know how I broke Jaime's nose.”

“Damn,” Sansa softly explained. “Well played, husband.”

They both chuckled, and Oberyn kissed her hand.

“So Cersei walks up to me, and I'm halfway to drunk, okay ?”

Sansa nods.

“And she starts to what ? Flirt with me, I guess.”

“You flirted with Cersei ?”

Sansa scrunched her nose in disgust.

“I know, I was young and stupid.”

“And desperate, apparently.”

A small wave of laughter spread throughout the room.

“What can I say, I wouldn't meet you for a long time. I was lost,” he winked. “But she flirts, I flirt, we drink. And then she goes in to kiss me.”

“You kissed her ?”

This time, Sansa couldn't hide her distaste.

“Gods, no. I was desperate, not insane.” he winked. “But I suppose that, to Jaime, it looked like we did. He came barreling toward me, shouting and pushing me. He was in some sort of sport team at the time, and I guess he felt like he could take me.”

“He tried to pick a fight with you because he thought you kissed his sister ?” Sansa asked, a little in disbelief. “I mean, I was close with both of my older brothers, and neither of them ever tried to punch any boy that tried to kiss me.”

“Oh ? And how many boys have tried to kiss you ?” he inquired, wriggling an eyebrow.

“Oh, loads.” she exagerrated, teasing him, rolling her eyes.

It was easier, now; she wasn't so focused on what was happening around her – she and Oberyn, this conversation, it felt like any other day, it felt natural and safe. She had calmed down significantly, and the roar of her thoughts had diminished greatly.

“Wow.” Oberyn only said.

“What ?” she frowned.

“I get it. How Jaime felt.” Oberyn whispered, making sure this was only for the both of them, not for anyone else. “I would have picked a fight with any of these boys.”

“Yeah, but you're not my brother.”

“Thank the Gods I'm not. I enjoy you too much.” he winked, then continued a little louder. “But in trying to show me who was boss, little shit left himself open. So I punched him, and I heard his cartilage crack under my knuckles.”

“Ew, gross.”

“You're giving birth to twins !” Oberyn frowned at the disparity, laughing.

“The miracle of life, dude. You hearing that noise don't compare.”

Oberyn nodded, but kept quiet, so Sansa pushed on.

“What did Cersei do ?”

“Nothing. Although she looked like she was very proud of herself to have two guys fighting over her.”

“Ew,” Sansa repeated.

“Yeah. I steered clear of the entire family the whole time I was in the capital. Ain't nobody got time for their drama,” he added, making Sansa laugh.

They were interrupted then by one of the most marvelous sounds that Sansa had ever heard.

One of her babies was crying.

Oberyn immediately stood up straight, but Sansa couldn't see what was happening – so, instead, she foucsed on listening. She closed her eyes, tears of joy and relief somehow streaming down on her cheeks.

“Here's our baby girl,” Jeyne told them.

Sansa's eyes fluttered open immediately.

The baby was being transferred into Oberyn's arms, wrapped in a sort of towel, free of her umbilical cord. Her husband, too, was crying. But he was also smiling.

He took a few seconds to say hi to her before he brought her, very gently, very gingerly, to Sansa, putting her down against her skin under the watchful eye of the nurse, who was now standing next to them.

“The doctor is working on your son, now. It might be a little long, but we're going to do everything that we can to minimize any damage there might be.”

Snasa wasn't sure what happened after that – all that she could see was her daughter, now pressed against her. She had stopped crying, only because she wanted to look at her without interruption. A tissue, she couldn't tell where it had come from and who was holding it, had wiped her cheeks and her nose.

She was vaguely aware of Oberyn right next to them, but she didn't care. All that mattered was that little baby, no longer crying, pressing down on her chest.

“Look at her,” she told no one in particular, “she's so beautiful.”

And she was.

Absolutely gorgeous.

She had a lot of hair, jet black, all over her head, that Sansa very softly smoothed down. She wasn't that big, especially in that towel, but, to her mother, she was, at the moment, the single, most important being in the whole universe. If anyone where to pose a threat to her, at that very moment, Sansa would have been able to kill, without a second thought, c-section in progress or not.

Oberyn was also touching her, and the two of them were quiet, although Sansa could tell they were animated with the same feelings – love, bewilderment, awe.

With her daughter on her chest, Sansa felt like nothing of what she had lived through mattered. In fact, if it all meant that she had found herself right here, right now, she now welcomed it all with happiness.

She couldn't say how long she stayed looking at her, but something in her heart gave her a little pang, thinking of her other child, the one in pain, and she turned to Oberyn.

“Take her,” she told him.

She didn't have to say it twice – her husband greedily accepted and held his child. Seeing the two of them, the adoration on Oberyn's face, made her smile.

But she wanted to hold her son, now.

“Where are we on my second baby, doctor ?” she asked, looking at the ceiling.

“Not long now, mrs Martell-Stark. I'm working on it.”

“Okay.”

Sansa forced herself to breathe, looking back at Oberyn.

He wasn't looking at her, he was losing himself in his daughter, singing her a lullaby under his breath.

She gazed at them, almost happy. All she needed now was her other child.

After a long and painful wait, she finally heard her other baby crying – that was the sound that brought Oberyn back to them, the sound that made Sansa's heart finally lighten. If he cried, he was okay.

This time, Jeyne gave the baby directly to her, naked, putting him right over her heart, to a spot where she had taken off Sansa's hospital gown.

“This one might need a few minutes with you, skin to skin. Okay ?”

Sansa eagerly nodded.

“He can have all the time he likes.” she stated.

This one had a little less hair, but only a smidge; and he was as blond as a wheat field, skin just a little fairer than his sister. He had stopped crying the minute he had touched her, but considering how Jeyne was looking over him, he wasn't totally out of danger.

Sansa glanced at his legs.

“Is he okay ?” she asked the nurse.

“We've restored blood flow, we've tested him. He could be completely okay, he could not. Time will tell.”

She nodded in answer, softly stroking him, not fully certain that this wasn't a dream.

“So,” Jeyne asked, turning to Oberyn first, then looking back at Sansa, “do we have names for these two little blessings ?”

“We do,” Sansa smiled, smiling up at Oberyn, who had moved closer to look at his son.

“Elya,” he answered, gazing down at the life between his arms.

“Robyn.” Sansa added, talking about her son.

“Elya and Robyn,” Jeyne nodded, smiling. “Welcome to the world.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Awww :) Quick, get to the next chapter !


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it - the end of the line. Enjoy !

EPILOGUE

 

The sun was shining on the veranda, flooding it with light, but the temperature was still nice, although controlled for the twins.

It had been sixteen months since she had given birth to Elya and Robyn, sixteen months of little sleep, constant discovery, diapers, formula, talcum powder, pictures and cooing – they were far from the end still, but now the babies were walking, sleeping through the night, and talking. It was a whole other job.

Robyn was wobbly on his legs, especially the right, and it had taking him a little longer to stand up and move around than it did for Elya, but he had, eventually.

Right now, he was racing through the veranda, hands firmly lodged around two of his father's fingers. Elya, on the other hand, had just eaten, and was now fast asleep in her uncle Doran's arms.

Doran had showed up at the hospital during the c-section, and he, Daemon, and Arielle had been the first to greet the newborns. And now that they were back in Dorne, he had taken to live with them full time – he didn't say it, but Sansa was certain that he loved his nephew and his niece with as fierce as love as the one that animated Oberyn and Sansa. He was protective, he was encouraging, and he was supportive.

He had taken to roll around the garden at dusk with Elya, showing her flowers and fruit and trees, having her listened to the birds and the cicadas, while Daemon was looking over Robyn, playing with him, reading to him.

For Sansa and Oberyn, this was nap time before they had to feed their children again.

They could fall asleep almost anywhere, now, and very quickly : sofas, loveseats, chairs, living-room, kitchen, even in the bath once or twice. And, starting a few weeks ago, nap time also included - sometimes, when they were awake and alert enough - their way back to having sex.

Which was exactly how Sansa was pregnant again.

 

Doran was shaking his head.

“These two are not even two years old.”

“I know.” Sansa smiled, looking over at her husband and her son, then at her daughter and her brother in law.

“Insanity.” he cursed softly, but Sansa didn't believe him.

Under his hard exterior, she knew that he was happy here, with the twins, with his own brother.

“Fine,” he assented. “But this one you're naming after me.”

Sansa chuckled.

“The first one you named after Elia, okay. But it's my turn now.”

He wasn't joking, but he also was; he smiled as Sansa laughed.

“I have three other brothers, you know.”

“And Oberyn has just the one.”

Sansa was in a playful mood, a happy mood, and so she decided to tease him.

“I was thinking Tyrion, for this one.”

“Don't you dare.”

Life was good, Sansa thought as she laughed again.

Elya was, as Doran had put it, the spitting image of one of the girls she had been named after, Elia. Apparently, she had the same nose, the same chin, the same eye colour; three characteristics she had shared with Oberyn, three characteristics _they_ had received from their own father. Of Oberyn's mother, Elya's grandmother, she had the long baby hair, or so she'd been told.

Of Arya, she had the fire, the drive. Despite her being so young, nothing was allowed to stand in the way of what she wanted. She learned to walk very quickly, very early, and now, when she wanted to, she could run around and drive her parents nuts.

She also had her curiosity, and the same shape of the eyes.

Robyn, on the other hand, looked exactly like a Tully. Like Sansa did, at his age. Like Robb had, too. Fair hair, fair skin, blue eyes. He was not as nimble as his sister, but he had started talking much earlier. His first word, much to his parents' dismay, had not been either 'mum' or 'dad', but 'book'. Since he had started walking, however, and despite the small limp that the doctors were treating with gentle physical therapy, he would hold on to either his mom or his dad, as he were now, and he would walk up to anything, touch them, maybe put them in his mouth if he was fast enough, and try to say their names until he did it right.

Things in Winterfell and now Dorne were good, quiet – soon, there wouldn't be a need for a bodyguard, or so Sansa hoped (although they would have to keep Daemon as a chauffeur or something, since the twins were already very attached to him.).

 

Tyrion had been tried first, plead guilty to murder, and was sentenced to twenty years in a correctional facility. Since he had been able to prove that this crime had been one of passion and not malice, judges had been more leniant on him.

A thing you couldn't say about his sister's judge.

Like detective Reed had told them, Cersei had been tried in the North, in White Harbor; and she had stood accused of assault, two attempted murders, aiding and abetting a criminal in the person of her son, Joffrey (who had since been deposed and was awaiting trial in a Kind's Landing jail), and many more counts that Sansa didn't care to remember much. Six months after the start of a very public trial, to which her brother Jaime was noticeably absent, Cersei Lannister had been found guilty on almost all charges, and sentenced to life in prison without the possibility of parole.

Sansa had been called to the witness stand for both trials: first, for Tyrion, to attest to his character and help his case vis a vis of the circumstances that surrounded the murder; then, for Cersei, to recant what had happened in Winterfell, what had happened in King's Landing when she was with Joffrey, when her parents were killed, when she was first married to Oberyn.

It had taken a toll on her, this trial – she was exhausted when she came back home, and wouldn't say a word all evening, except when she was trying to breastfeed her kids. But she was gone all day, almost everyday – her kids got used to formula, and soon, she wasn't producing any more milk anyway.

That had been a final screw you by Cersei to Sansa, although she wasn't certain knew anything about it or had done anything on purpose.

In any case, the only Lannister threat left was Joffrey, and he was in a maximum security prison somewhere. Cowardly, darkly, deep in a corner of her mind that would never see the light of day, Sansa hoped he would die in that jail.

 

But it didn't matter now. What mattered were Elya and Robyn, as well as that third child inside of her. What mattered was Oberyn, and their happiness, all of them together.

The rest, they would figure out as they go.

 

 

THE END

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh, I can't believe that's finished !  
> Thank you so much for getting to this epilogue, for your lovely comments, your kudos, your bookmarks ! It really means a lot <3  
> If you need more Sansa/Oberyn, I've just started a new fic called 'Unbreak my Heart', go check it out !   
> And if you enjoyed this story, please consider visiting my ko-fi page ( Ko-fi.com/captainenvy ) and maybe buy me a coffee so that I can continue writing !   
> Thanks !!!


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